Crimson Blood
by Creative Nothing
Summary: Harry Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle were born in the same year. No pairings. The year is 1962, their seventh and final in Hogwarts. The Cold War looms over the world, the goblins rise against one another, poverty and crime skyrockets. Meanwhile, Tom Riddle continues his search for the Chamber of Secrets, as well as for the secrets of immortality.
1. Prologue: Tom Marvolo Riddle, Part One

_Disclaimer: I will be borrowing these characters and the setting from JKR, but this is an alternative universe, and the plot will not be a repeat of the books. We will be following Tom Marvolo Riddle as the main character. No pairings._

* * *

The wooden cottage laid in ruins, torn apart by some inhuman force of astonishing brutality. The roof was missing completely, and the walls were collapsed outwards, making for a sorry sight. You could still make out the dining room, a table set for two, a little crib, all exposed to the world as if in a dollhouse.

The nearby area also fell victim to this terrible violence. Many of the surrounding trees were fallen, their roots, taller than a man, now shooting up to the sky. Others were dangerously leaning on their neighbors, yet to fall. A few were just splintered stumps.

A man was making his way through this devastation. He wasn't having an easy time of it, stumbling through the maze of broken branches.

"Damn, what a mess!" he loudly proclaimed, after having jumped up onto a collapsed tree trunk. "Now that's what I call a tornado."

He was young, with black, unkempt hair, and a face that was clearly not shaven in a while. He was still handsome in spite of this rugged look, however, it was clear that a heavy burden of some kind was taking a toll on him.

"Please, can we go back," said a woman who was nervously following him. "I don't think this was a tornado."

She was of similar age, but much more plain looking than the man. The way she carried herself was rather timid and jumpy.

"What are you talking about," replied the man cheerfully. He now noticed the ruin of the cottage in the distance. "Let's go take a look."

He jumped off the tree that he was standing on, nearly falling over in the process. Before coming on this little trip, he had something to drink, which was a new habit of his.

Soon, they arrived at the site of the ruins, the wreckage scattered on the whole clearing. The man spotted somebody lying motionless on the ground, and approached to have a closer look.

"What the hell is he wearing?" he said as he knelt next to the unconscious man. "Weirdo. That's a nice ring though."

The unfortunate man was in his prime, and dressed in some sort of a vivid magenta robe. His face bore striking, nearly aristocratic features, and it was surprisingly clean and unmarred in contrast to his surroundings. In fact, had no visible sign of injury, but for some reason wasn't moving at all.

"What are you doing?" asked the woman, shock in her voice, as she noticed her companion patting down the body.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm taking his stuff," he replied with an annoyed tone. "He's a corpse anyway."

The woman left him to his own devices, and went on to investigate the ruins. She was looking at her feet, carefully avoiding the broken glass, so she didn't even notice the cadaver until a few paces away.

"A woman!" she cried out in fright. "A wooden beam crushed her to death!"

This macabre scene was too much for her, and so she looked away in fright. Then, she heard something: it was a soft crying of an infant, a sound which made her regain her courage.

She moved deeper into the wreckage, and sure enough, as if through a miracle, there was a completely unharmed infant - just laying there, all wrapped up. She picked it up, with care and affection.

"I found a baby! It's unharmed!" she called out, joy in her voice.

"What do I care? We already have a kid at home woman, so don't even think about another one. Now, what are these weird coins?"

Just as he said those words, a hand grabbed him. The supposedly deceased man that he was currently robbing, now regained consciousness.

"You… You came to rescue me," he said. "Thank you."

The man paused, as if every word was a great effort, but then he immediately continued, in visible distress.

"My wife and son," he said with great dread. "Are they alive?"

"Your son is unhurt," replied the thief, unnerved at the dead returning to life. "But I am afraid that your wife has passed away."

Tears started running down the man's face, his features contorted from this great sorrow. He took a moment to compose himself, and then continued speaking.

"I must thank you for saving my son and myself," he said despite his pain. "My name is James Potter. Please, tell me, tell me your name, before I lose consciousness."

The thief quickly adjusted to the new set of circumstances, thankful for the favorable turn of events, as the man was clearly rich, and an easy target.

"Tom Riddle, at your service." He replied with a smile, not at all ashamed of trying to rob the man's possessions a few moments ago.

"Mr. Riddle, the Potters, whatever is left of us… we will never forget what you did today."

* * *

There were two people in the small, shabby room. One of them was currently lying in bed, shivering from a high fever. His bloated face was coated in sweat, and he was mumbling something to himself.

However, one would be hard pressed to feel sorry for this man, for the impression that he gave off was quite repulsive. His face was red and his eyes were yellowed, a visible sign of the long years of drinking. Time was not kind to Tom Riddle.

On the other side of the shabby room was a boy, no more than ten years old. In stark contrast to the older man, he looked as if he cared much about his appearance, but a keen observer would nevertheless pick up something very wrong about him.

However, on the surface, he seemed well raised and intelligent. Despite being cheap, his clothes were clean and neat. He sat next to a small table, reading a book, completely engrossed in it. Then, he was soon interrupted by a loud groan coming from the bed.

"What is it father? Should I give you your medicine?" asked the boy politely.

"No medicine!" Riddle shouted, with delirious annoyance. "These quacks don't know anything. It's all a scam, they're trying to swindle me."

With a shaking hand, he reached over to the bedside table, and grabbed a bottle of a strong spirit. Riddle tried taking a swig, but soon realized that it was empty.

"Bring me another bottle, boy!" he yelled and angrily threw the empty bottle. It shattered against the wall.

"Please father, be quiet, or we will be thrown out," said the boy as he closed his book and stood up.

He walked over to a cupboard, and picked out a small bottle. Unscrewing the top off the cheap liquor, he handed it to his father.

"Now, that's all the medicine I need," Riddle said, chuckling to himself. "What a good son I have."

His son was named Tom after him, and Marvolo after his wife's father. She was dead for a long time now, so the son was essentially taking care of his father. As Tom Riddle Senior grew sick, most likely due to his alcoholism, he decided that they were moving back to Little Hangleton, a small town where he was born. Despite it being his home town, he wasn't welcome at all.

Over a decade ago, when Merope became pregnant, he went to his parents and announced that he was going to marry her. Completely shocked at the news, they didn't react well. A row broke out, Tom Riddle almost became violent, as he wouldn't tolerate any insult against his betrothed's family. His parents considered the Gaunts to be destitute and immoral lunatics, and they told their son as much, utterly appalled at his frivolous actions. He couldn't stand what they were saying and left.

He run off from Little Hangleton with Merope, and shortly after, she gave birth to a child. They were happy for a while. However, as if waking up from a daze, Tom Riddle Senior one day realized his complete lack of affection towards his new family.

What brought on this sudden change of heart, he couldn't even fully understand himself. He tried going back to his parents, but found out that they had already disowned him. Without any money, and without any prospects, with a wife and son that didn't even feel like his own, he turned to drinking.

Now, feeling as if death was soon approaching, he moved with his son back to Little Hangleton, to satisfy his spite, to show his parents, and everybody else he once knew, what misfortune had befallen him, all because of how they turned their back on him.

* * *

As his father passed out drunk, Tom Riddle Junior slipped out onto the street. It was getting dark now, and the chill air welcomed him with a cold embrace, cleansing from him the stench of the apartment.

Little Hangleton looked like any other small town in England, full of dreary grey houses, each one nearly identical. The liquor store shone from across the street, conveniently close, and always open.

Tom passed it, not really paying attention to his surroundings. The street was empty, occasionally a car drove by. As he walked, the houses were getting scarcer, and shortly all that remained was the road, walled off from both sides by trees.

Soon there was a break in the trees, a dirt road going up into the wilderness, which he took. After a brief hike, he found himself up on a hill, overlooking the town. It glowed with flickering rows of lights, surprisingly beautiful from a distance, as if veins of gold.

Tom stepped onto the grass, found a comfortable spot by a tree, and laid down, submerging himself in the tall vegetation. He closed his eyes and listened.

At first he heard the chirping of the crickets, the buzzing of winged insects above him, trees rustling in the wind. Then, he finally heard what he was looking for.

Soft hissing was coming from somewhere in the clearing. He hissed back, and it fell silent for a moment. Soon it came back, doubled and tripled, from several different locations. It came nearer.

Snakes slithered out from the grass around the boy, and he sat up, watching. They crawled about around him, occasionally making noises. He could make out words from their hissing, but didn't really bother paying attention too closely.

Tom picked up one of them with his hands, looked at it, but then dissatisfied, let it go. This repeated a couple times, until apparently he found what he was looking for in one of the brown snakes, and stood up, taking it with him.

He walked a couple steps, but then stopped and turned back, snatching a second snake at random from the ground. He smiled to himself, and the snakes coiled around his arms.

* * *

Instead of returning the same way that he came from, he took a detour, and followed the road until he came upon a residence, somewhat isolated from the town. It was surrounded by a low stone fence, meant for keeping in sheep.

"Hey! Took you long enough," said a young voice. On the fence sat a teenager, perhaps a few years older than Tom.

"Hi. Let's go somewhere with more light."

"So, you've got it?" said the teen as he jumped off from where he was sitting.

"Of course. If you've got the money," replied Tom. They walked towards the house, where one of the white walls had a light shining on the outside, and huddled around it.

"It's right around your arm!" said the teen, excited. The snake reared its head up, and was tasting the air with its tongue. "What does it eat?"

"You can feed it frogs, or just any meat and it'll be fine. Fish too, they're excellent swimmers," replied Tom.

"It's not venomous though, right?" asked the boy, nervously.

"Of course not," replied Tom, annoyed. "Just give me the money and it's yours."

"About that, no way I'm paying that much for a snake. And it's not like it cost you anything to catch it."

"You're absolutely right."

"What?" said the teenager, taken off balance. Last time they met, Tom was rather hard on driving up the price.

"No grass snake is worth that much, you'd pay like half in a pet shop. Tell you what, I'll even give you a second snake for free," said Tom as he showed off his other arm. "And this second snake, let me tell you, is not some boring grass snake – it's a viper."

"Get that away from me!" cried the teenager, backed against the wall.

"In this light they're almost indistinguishable from one another. Notice, however, the triangular shape of its head, housing the glands filled with venom. The black zigzag running along it's body. The –"

"Alright, alright, I'll pay you!"

"Be quiet, you'll wake up your parents. They don't want you playing around with snakes," replied Tom mockingly.

"Put it away, here's your money," the teen whispered, struggling to keep his voice down. He took out his wallet, but didn't know what to do with it, not having the courage to extend his arm.

"I'm glad we could come to an agreement. You'll find that it's quite useless to argue with me," said Tom, and let the viper slither away into the grass.

"You cunt, that was the first snake you showed me!"

"You're correct. It also was the viper," replied Tom, pocketing the money and throwing away the wallet.

After some hesitation, the teen shoved the grass snake into his backpack, and having regained some courage, decided to take revenge on the younger boy by kicking him, "Take that, you psycho."

Tom bent in half from the kick to his stomach, but it was the older teenager that cried out instead, "Help! Mom, dad, there's that weird boy again!"

Deciding not to wait for adults to show up, and doubled in pain, Tom staggered into the darkness. He tumbled over the fence, just as he heard people start coming out from the house.

The dirt road was smooth enough, even in the dark he was able to pick up a brisker pace. Feeling better, and only occasionally stumbling over a stone, he soon left the commotion behind.

Tom thought about the viper he let go, but it was definitely gone by now. However, as it probably wouldn't be able to cross the stone fence, he hoped it would at least bite somebody in there. In any case, he got the money.

It wasn't long before he arrived back in town, and slipped back in, unnoticed, into the apartment. Careful as to not wake up his father, he stashed his spoils, and prepared for bed.

He smiled as he was falling asleep: just another successful day.

* * *

_(AN) As some of you might have noticed, I was inspired by a certain manga, which I used as a starting point. However, the fanfiction quickly lead me somewhere more original, so don't expect anything more like that after the prologue._


	2. Prologue: Tom Marvolo Riddle, Part Two

Tom did not have a peaceful night. He was plagued by nightmares, visions of repulsive faces, with snakes crawling on top of them, biting and hissing. At one point he sat up, convinced that somebody had just placed a hand on his shoulder, about to accuse him of something. It was still dark, and there was nobody there, so he went back to sleep.

When Tom woke up the next day, he found his father already up as well. What was even more surprising was that he was writing something by the desk. The window was wide open, letting in the chill air of the early morning.

"What are you doing, father?" Tom asked, after quickly getting dressed.

"Good Morning! Look what an owl had just brought me," Riddle Senior said while holding up an envelope. "This is great news."

"An owl flew in, and gave you a letter. How absurd," replied Tom while closing the window. "I can't see it anywhere, I guess it flew away... are you drunk already?"

"No! Listen to me boy. Sit down. Good. Back when you were a few months old, there was this guy, a rich, posh weirdo… He owes me something big, and now I'll take him up on it. Part of it is he got you a spot in some big school. Are you listening? We're leaving this hellhole and moving to his place for a bit. Things are going to change for us."

"Is he the one who sent you this owl?" Tom said, and rolled his eyes.

"Yes! I'm writing him back. If I spin this right, we'll be all set," said Riddle almost manically. "My own family doesn't even care, there is no reason to stay here. I just want you to get rich, boy. Or, maybe he will get me a good doctor, and we'll both get rich. I'll need to write something good."

"Sounds wonderful. I'll leave you to it, as I'm going out," said Tom and left the apartment. He had lost any interest in his father's schemes a long time ago, as they rarely worked and only invited new problems.

As he was walking down the stairs, Tom thought back to how his father went to the Riddles' mansion with him, only to find the gate closed shut. He rattled the metal and shouted, which just caused the gardener to show up and throw them out.

Then Riddle Senior went looking for his old friends, who were more receptive - at least at first. Soon they also realized that he was just a bum, trying to leech off money and drink. It wasn't long before he was ostracized by most of the town.

Tom sighed and returned his thoughts to the present moment, prompted by the rumbling of his stomach. He was heading for a nearby café, and as the events from yesterday came back to him, he glanced around in a slightly paranoid way.

What has the boy, that he has sold the snake to, told his parents? Were they aware of who he was, or even looking for him at this very moment, convinced that he had robbed their son? He wasn't going to try to find out, it would be best to wait for it all to blow over.

Tom stepped into the café, which thankfully was nearly empty. He was on good terms with the staff, who were easily charmed by his good manners - perhaps they pitied him because of his father.

He sat down, and a waitress came over to take his order. He picked a table the furthest away from the window, still paranoid. When a woman came in not long after, it seemed that his fears weren't so irrational after all.

"Excuse me, I am looking for a boy. Name Tom, black hair, thin - have you seen him?" she asked the waitress, who by now returned to the counter.

Tom paused at the mention of his name, and frantically thought of what to do. Currently his back was turned to the entrance, and the woman hasn't seen him. Running was out of the question, so he simply covered by the plush seat of the booth.

"I know that he's here, let me have a look," the woman said and advanced deeper into the café. "That boy is a thief and a hooligan." Tom cursed himself for dealing with a tattletale. Any second, the woman was going to see him.

She stepped right in front of his table, and stopped to look around. Tom couldn't believe it, but she somehow didn't even notice him. Her eyes glanced right where he was sitting, even stared right at him for a moment, all without actually seeing him.

Dejected, she walked away, proclaiming her annoyance to the staff. After being asked to leave, she finally left out the door.

Tom smiled, relieved and excited - this must have been part of his unexplainable powers. Talking to snakes was just the beginning of it. Whenever he was scared, or angry, he found that strange things would happen.

Some of it he could control, such as making others hurt, or moving small things without touching them. Also, it was always easy to persuade adults - and animals he could command outright. He smiled to himself and continued eating.

* * *

He finished the rest of his breakfast in peace, and left the café. The woman was nowhere in sight, but he couldn't stay here. Nor did he want to.

Tom set out on the same path as yesterday night, towards the boy's house. Feeling uneasy in the open, Tom decided to stay away from the road, and took a path straight through the wilderness.

As he walked through small hills and streams, the thick shrubbery and low branches slowed him down significantly, a landscape surprisingly untamed despite the close proximity to civilization.

Tom was making his way up a slope, particularly littered with dead branches and twigs, when he noticed something slithering amongst the debris. He hissed to it, and a triangular head of a viper showed itself.

He spirited the snake away from its dwelling, and continued on his journey. Soon, the trees parted, and he found himself standing near a clearing, his destination plainly in view.

Throwing caution to the wind, he walked straight up to the house without even a pause, and looked into it through the windows. The house seemed empty; the boy and his parents were nowhere to be seen, probably all looking for him in town, Tom thought.

Tom walked around the house and gazed into the boy's room. It had walls plastered with football posters, shelves littered with various toys and sports equipment. The sight revolted him for some reason, perhaps it was the normalcy of it all, or perhaps it was just simple envy.

He put his hand flat against the glass. The handle on the other side began to move. Soon, the window was unlocked, and Tom pushed it open, smiling.

He climbed onto the windowsill, and extending his arm, let the snake drop onto the bed below. It quickly disappeared, having crawled beneath the blanket.

That boy would not, and could not, get away with crossing him.

* * *

Tom explored the nearby woods and meadows until early afternoon, hiding, but also fantasizing about the moment the teenager would return to his room. He imagined the shock on his victim's face, the pain as the snake sunk it's fangs into their body, the panic at the thought of venom cursing through their veins.

Of course, there would be no guarantee that the boy would get bitten, and even if he were bitten, it would not be lethal. At least, thought Tom, there would be no way to prove, or explain his part in all of this – how could he have gotten a snake into a locked room?

Suddenly, Tom stopped in his tracks, as a house appeared in front of him. It was built in a strange location, concealed, tucked away from all but one sides with thick trees. Tom instinctively hid behind a tree trunk from any potential inhabitants.

As he took a closer look, he spotted the missing roof tiles, cracked paint, and a clutter of old appliances around it. The house looked abandoned, certainly nobody cared about it for a long time now. He decided to investigate.

The shutters blocked the windows, so he went to the front door, which looked as if somebody used it for target practice. He pulled it open, and peered inside.

The dirty stone walls contained something resembling a living room, with a table in the center, cluttered with rubbish. Behind it there was an old stove, with pots hanging above. There was also a fireplace, and a decrepit armchair.

However, the most disturbing sight was the floor, which was littered with tiny bones and tiny skulls, making the place look like a lair of some small predator. A weird stench emanated from it all.

"_Leave,"_ suddenly hissed a voice, disturbingly close.

Tom spun around and saw that a ragged man was standing right behind him. He had a wild, unshaven face, surrounded by long, dirty hair, a tattered robe covered his body.

"_I said leave,"_ the man hissed again, taking a step even closer.

"_I have no intention of staying,"_ replied Tom.

"_You speak it?"_ asked the man, freezing in place.

"_Speak what?"_ said Tom, equally confused.

The man let out a snort, and replied, now in English: "Parseltongue. The snake language of Salazar himself. I thought that I was the last one. Come inside, boy."

Not having much of a choice, and curious at who the man was, Tom decided to do as he said. Tom walked inside the decrepit house, bones cracking beneath his feet as he stepped. The man used his forearm to clear the table by simply shoving everything on the floor, pointed Tom to a seat, and busied himself near the oven.

"After the old man died, and my whore of a sister run off, I was the only one left. In Britain at least. I now see there are more. Tea?" he asked, holding up an old, rusty kettle.

Tom nodded, and the man put down cups, and the kettle on the table, which now somehow seemed to be full of boiling water. He opened up the cupboard looking for something.

"Don't have no sugar. What was I saying? Marvolo died, and that bitch run off with Salazar's locket! If father lived to see this!" the man worked himself up to a frenzy, and started walking around the room, and wildly gesticulating with his hands. In one of them there was a wand.

Tom paused at the mention of his middle name, realizing just who the man was. The fear that he felt at this strange encounter was now replaced with disgust. Turns out, his mother's family was equally as repulsive as his father; just as poor, just as useless. No wonder she run off, but why of all people, did she have to pick his father?

The man made a few gestures with his wand, which failed to produce any tea or sugar. He slumped his shoulders, dejected. Then he suddenly turned towards Tom, and began staring at him. "What is your name?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Marvolo Riddle? RIDDLE?" this was obviously not a good answer to give.

"A filthy, mudblooded, half-blood has my father's middle name?" the man run up to Tom, and leaned over the table, trembling. "I will wipe this shit-stain off the family tree!"

The man brandished his wand right in front of his own face and stared at it cross-eyed. "No, I can't go to Azkaban again… but, they will never know, never find his body, if I do this right, for my father…"

As the man continued mumbling to himself, a habit no doubt picked up due to long years of living in solitude, Tom was slowly moving his hand on the table, towards the kettle. He grasped the handle, placing his thumb on the lever, poised to open the top.

The man sensing something was wrong, or perhaps just glancing mechanically, pushed Tom into action. The boy jumped up with a yell, throwing the entire kettle worth of boiling water right at the man's face.

The man screamed, his face covered in red blotches, the liquid running down onto his chest, soaking his robes, causing unrelenting pain. He instinctively blocked his eyes with his hands, which spared his vision, but not so much his fingers.

Tom didn't wait to see what would happen next, and immediately run out of the shack, straight ahead, through the meadow, as fast as he could. It didn't take long until the man run out after him, red, and completely soaked in water, which he conjured up to dull the pain.

He fired off the first spell just as Tom was jumping over the nearby hedge, however he missed the shot completely. Tom stumbled as he saw the yellow light flashing above him, narrowly avoided contact with the road, and used his momentum to slide underneath the bushes on the other side.

The village was down in the valley below, and Tom was going there along the shortest path possible. Branches lashed him in the face, vines sliced at his legs, and the steep descent propelled him forward, along with the man yelling curses at him, both in English, and in Latin.

Tom run out of the wilderness and into the open, onto an asphalt road, with the village in view. Soon the man appeared as well, stopped for a moment to catch his breath, then took aim.

However, the spell he fired never reached Tom, who managed to disappear behind the nearest house. Magical energy collided with the wall, cracking it, and producing a deep thud, shattering the nearby windows.

People on the streets stopped to see what was going on, and Tom weaved around them, careful to never be in direct view. However, the man pursuing him did not hesitate, and continued firing spells. Some of them hit the pedestrians - one man collapsed, petrified, a woman fell over in spasms.

Panic broke out, people were now screaming and running away. The robed assailant was intentionally aiming at everyone he could, although exhausted from the chase, wasn't very successful.

Tom turned into an alley, but after a moment, realized it was a dead end. He continued onwards, deciding to hide, hoping that the man would ran past him. With his heart pounding in his ears, he futilely tried to steady his breathing.

He watched people pass by on the main street, tensing up at their sight each time. Finally, the robed man showed up as well, but unlike the others, he didn't continue onwards, but turned right into the alley.

Tom nearly panicked, but he remembered the morning, when he evaded the woman looking for him. He tried as much as he could to not be noticed behind the trashcans, hoping that magic would fulfill his wish.

The man walked towards him, looking around, until he finally reached the end of the alley where Tom was hiding. He waved his wand, and the trashcans flew away from in front of Tom, exposing him completely.

"Mudblood trash hiding among its own, eh? Thought you could escape a real, pure-blooded wizard?" the man slashed his wand unleashing a vicious curse, but Tom was already moving. He acted on instinct, and jumped up higher than humanly possible, somehow getting onto a balcony above.

"Stop moving!" the man shouted, and pointed with his wand again. "Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes flew at Tom, offering no way to escape, and binding him painfully in place. The man below was eyeing him widely, walking back and forth, thinking about the worst curses he knew. Tom looked back at him, with an equal amount of hatred.

Then, a series of loud bangs, as if somebody was firing a burst from a machine gun, reverberated in the alley.

"NO, no, not Azkaban again! You'll never take me!" shouted the man and began frantically firing spells into the street, bathing it in multicolored rays of light.

After a moment he stopped, confused at the lack of response. He looked warily into the distance, searching for movement.

Suddenly, a dozen or so red lights flew into the alley, covering the distance faster than he could react. They struck him, and the magical energy blew him backwards, smashing him into a wall. The combined strength of the stunners accomplished what a single one was incapable of, and Morfin Gaunt was no more.

Tom felt his bindings loosen, and as he fell over, robed men flooded the alley, wands drawn. They checked Morfin's fallen body, and after making sure he was dead, two of them grabbed him and disappeared with a crack.

Tom watched the remaining robed men talk amongst themselves, and then walk away. He didn't dare to move, even though the ropes binding him started slipping off, and disappearing into the ether.

* * *

It was only a good while later that he decided to jump off the balcony and make his way home. He carefully tiptoed to the alley's entrance, and stuck his head out. There was nobody in sight, so he continued walking.

However, the trip back to the apartment wasn't an easy one; the robed people were all over the town, stopping passersby on the street, asking them about the incident. Tom saw that afterwards they performed some sort of a spell on the people they stopped, however to no visible effect.

He run up the stairs into the apartment, and the place looked pretty much the same as he left it. The only additions were the window being open again, and his father slumped over the table, now surrounded by a few empty bottles.

"Father, I'm back," said Tom loudly. "There's been some sort of an incident in town."

There was no reply, so Tom walked over to the table and gently shook his father. In response something flew at Tom, and he ducked out of the way. It was an owl, holding a letter in its claws. It dropped it at Tom's head, who was surprised enough that he didn't even manage to catch it.

Curious, he picked it from the floor, and saw that it was addressed either to him, or his father. He considered opening it, but he currently had more pressing matters. He proceeded to shake his father again, this time more vigorously, but Riddle Senior just fell off from the chair, and hit the floor.

As even the fall didn't wake him, Tom began to suspect that his father wasn't asleep at all. He tried shaking him again, but to no effect. His father wasn't moving, and it was now clear that he was dead. His illness had finally claimed him.

Tom just stood there, in shock, motionless. He became aware of a mix of emotions, each one vying for dominance. Could it be that on some level, he cared about his father?

The owl flew onto his shoulder and sat there, but Tom made no motion to shoo it away, and just stared at the body. Finally, somebody knocking on the door had made him move away from the spot.

He opened the door, and saw two people in the hallway. One of them was a policeman, and the other was a man dressed in a wetsuit, complete with a mask and flippers.

"Good evening, that's a very nice pet you've got there. Me and the detective wanted to ask you a couple questions about today's events. In fact, we're asking the whole town about it," the policeman said in a jovial voice. "Say though, is that man dead, or just drunk?"

Tom finally settled on one emotion, and burst out laughing.

* * *

Tom Riddle Senior's funeral wasn't a very big event. Aside from Tom and a priest, only Riddle's parents suddenly decided to show up; perhaps because they paid for the whole affair. However, they didn't lay him down to rest near their family, instead deciding on a cheaper location next to his wife.

Riddle did not leave his son much of an inheritance. Perhaps the most valuable thing he left, which he literally died waiting for, was the owl's letter. Turns out it was from somebody named James Potter, and much to Tom's delight, James Potter was a wizard.

They began exchanging correspondence. The man was sympathetic to Tom's current plight as an orphan, and extended an invitation to his home. He wrote that he owed Riddle Senior his life, and by taking Tom in, he would at least partially repay this debt. Tom immediately agreed.

After Morfin's death, (who also left Tom a meager inheritance, consisting of a small plot of land and an old ring), Tom's grandparents were his only living relatives. Of course, Tom would never want to live with them, as besides of how ordinary they were in comparison to James Potter, he also remembered how they never even moved a finger to help his parents. So, naturally, in his letters to Mr. Potter, he omitted the mention of their existence.

Tom always knew that he was important, perhaps the most important - it was as if the universe responded to his whims. If he didn't like something, by his will alone, that something would change. Now, he had a word for it: Magic. Apparently, some other people had it too, but that was inconsequential. He could become better than anybody.

These thoughts were continuously running through his head, as if the death of his father only made him more motivated, more ambitious. The funeral ended nearly an hour ago, but Tom was still standing over the grave. At first, it was only to avoid his grandparents, but now, he also decided to give an eulogy.

"You were revolting, and not only in your looks; you drove mother to death, and were a horrible father," Tom said and spat on the grave. "I hate your name, the name of a man who never became anybody, why have you given it to me?"

"You wanted me to become rich. Don't worry, I will," he spoke, as he paced back and forth. "I will squeeze everything I can from Potter, and develop an even greater power: Magic. If they don't give it to me - I will take it. If they try to stop me - I will break them. Nobody can bring me down. You tried, Gaunt tried – now you're all dead. No one will stop me on my the path to greatness. It is my destiny."


	3. Prologue: Harry James Potter, Part One

Harry has been periodically looking out the window ever since he woke up, all because a guest was expected to arrive at precisely eight in the morning. He even went out to the gate a few times, and looked out onto the street, but there was no sign of them. It was half past now and nobody was coming, so he got bored.

Harry now occupied himself with looking through his chocolate frog card collection, which was all in a very nice binder, sorted by rarity according to the official guide. He had plenty already, but it was nearly impossible to get them all, and a complete collection would be worth a fortune.

When that got old, he opened up his Quidditch chest, which not only housed his first proper sized broom (the brand new Arcus V), a maintenance kit, a Quaffle, but also the golden snitch. It used to have two Bludgers as well, but his father locked those away, after one nearly broke his nose.

Having checked over his broom, Harry looked through the window again. This time, he saw that somebody had actually arrived, and was opening the gate. He quickly put his broom back in the chest and run downstairs, shouting to his dad that Tom was here.

When he left the house, he saw that the guest was carrying a heavy briefcase, and by his gait it was clear that he had been walking with it for a while now. Harry hurried over to meet him, nearly falling over at the steps.

"Hi Tom, I'm Harry," he greeted him and extended his hand, which Tom shook. "Let me take that for you."

However, when Harry tried taking Tom's luggage, the boy pushed him away.

"Do not touch my things," he said, looking irritated.

"I was just trying to help," Harry responded, bewildered.

"I've somehow managed just fine until now. Leave it."

After he said those words, James Potter finally walked out of the house. He was wearing an intricate, bright crimson robe, with a matching, pointed hat. He spread his arms in greeting.

"Tom, Welcome! I see you've already met my son, Harry. You both are of the same age, and will be going to Hogwarts next year, I'm sure you'll get along fantastically," he boomed, and then turned to Harry. "As I've said before, Tom's father saved my life, so I will try to raise him as if I had another son. I hope you'll treat him as you would a brother."

"Yes, dad," replied Harry, trying to forget the previous misunderstanding.

"Why have you not offered Tom help with his luggage? No matter. Binky!" as he said the name, a house elf materialized out of thin air, startling the guest.

"What is that?" blurted out Tom, in visible disgust.

"This is our house elf, she helps us around the house: she cooks, does the usual chores, that sort of thing. Binky's been with us ever since Harry was born, she's very loyal."

"The breakfast is ready, sirs," Binky said, bowed, and vanished with the briefcase.

"Oh, yes. I don't know about you boys, but I'm starving," said Mr. Potter and lead them into the house, past the marble staircase, and into the dining room. Inside stood a long table, far too big for just three people, silverware for which was laid near one end. There were plates filled with the elements of a traditional English breakfast: eggs, beans, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages and pudding.

They sat down and began eating - Harry plated a little of everything, and then began spooning as much as he could into his mouth. He glanced at Tom, who in contrast, was carefully cutting his food, maintaining proper etiquette. This made Harry slow down, hoping that his father hasn't noticed his lack of manners, and wouldn't embarrass him with a comment.

"Tom, you've got here a little late, I hope your trip went alright?" Mr. Potter inquired.

"It went alright, at least at first, I got to the… Muggle town you wrote about, sir. I looked if there were any buses headed here, but there was nothing. When I asked about the place, turns out nobody's even heard of Godric's Hollow. I nearly gave up, but then I found a sign - a big, wooden, pointing finger. It showed where to go, but the Muggles acted as if they couldn't even see it."

"It has been charmed that way to keep uninvited guests out. You see, Godric's Hollow is a purely wizarding settlement, one of the few places where wizards can freely practice magic, without the fear of a Muggle seeing too much," Mr. Potter had already finished his breakfast, and now was blowing light blue smoke out of his pipe. As the smoke moved through the air, it took unusually defined shapes, making it seem as if wispy creatures slowly danced in circles, until gently dissipating near the ceiling.

"Why do you care what Muggles see, sir? I saw wizards doing magic in the middle of Little Hangleton," said Tom, looking up at the curious sight.

"That was… not the way wizards should act. I've heard there was an incident there, some wizard went crazy, Aurors were called in to keep the peace. I hope you weren't hurt?" Tom shook his head.

"No? Good. This is also why I wanted you out of there so quickly. This wizard, Gaunt, supposedly he was one of the last descendants of Slytherin himself. Or at least that was what he was deluded enough to believe. Either way, it seemed like a dangerous place…" Mr. Potter trailed off for a moment, but then resumed speaking.

"What was your question, again? Oh right, you see, we like to keep our worlds separate to avoid all sorts of issues. Easier that way for both parties - what we have works, and there would be a lot of unrest, maybe even a war, if Muggles found out about magic. It's much calmer if they don't show up with pitchforks every other week, trying to burn the place down, don't you think?"

At the mention of Slytherin's name, Harry thought of a question to ask. "Tom, what House do you think you'll be in at Hogwarts? I'm hoping for Gryffindor."

"House? I'm sorry, I don't know anything about Houses," replied Tom, maintaining his polite attitude.

"You don't know?" Mr. Potter asked, nearly choking on his tobacco in surprise. "Wasn't your mother a witch?"

"She couldn't have been a witch, she died when I was five," there was a harder edge to Tom's voice now.

"Tom, I'm sorry about your mother." Mr. Potter put out his pipe. "But having magic doesn't make you immortal. We live longer, though we can't escape death, same as Muggles. Your mother was a witch, she told me herself - I've only met her once, but she seemed like a good person."

"My father definitely wasn't a wizard though," said Tom, while looking down at his plate. "Why did she marry a Muggle?"

"It's not that unusual, especially for Muggleborns. If I remember right, I think she said that she was one – it means that her parents weren't wizards. Your father was a good man, she was lucky to have him."

After hearing those words a strange expression came over Tom's face, and his hands forcefully squeezed what they were holding. However, Mr. Potter didn't seem to notice anything, as he was lost in thought. They continued eating in silence, and Binky showed up once again, to take away Mr. Potter's plates.

"I think we'll have to do something about your lack of knowledge about our World, Tom," said Mr. Potter as he stood up. "I'll see what we have in our Library. Harry, why don't you show Tom upstairs? Let him see his new room, and I'm sure he would also like to see yours."

Harry immediately stood up as well, a decision which made him feel awkward, as Tom was still busy with his breakfast. He tried to occupy himself in order to hide his uneasiness: first by straightening his robes, then he pretended to be interested in his chair.

"Thank you, Binky," Tom spoke as the elf cleared his plate away, paying no attention to Harry.

"So, are you coming or not?" asked Harry, while silently tapping his foot under the table.

Tom slowly moved his gaze up, and then nodded his head. Harry left at a very brisk pace, but had to slow down to accommodate Tom, who had no intention of running.

They went up the marble staircase and into the corridor, where hung a snoring portrait of his grandfather. Harry looked at Tom, daring him to show any sign of astonishment at a magical portrait, but he saw none.

"Your room is on the right, mine is opposite of yours," said Harry as he opened the door to Tom's new room. "There's your luggage near the bed, but other than there's not much in there… I think dad will take us shopping to the Alley soon though. Want to see my room?"

Harry didn't wait for an answer but simply opened the door and began showing everything inside, completely forgetting his previous uneasiness. Not out of any desire to show off, but he simply regained his confidence, as he finally knew what to do next.

"I've got a bunch of Quidditch stuff, here's my favorite team: The Magpies. My dad allows me to hang only a single poster, but I've got a bunch more here, want to look? Oh, and I've got a nearly full Quidditch set, no Bludgers though, but a golden Snitch and everything. Here's my broom, Argus V. It's pretty fast, and the maneuverability charms are the best on the market. I'll show you later, we've got to play Quidditch together! I nearly forgot that you never played. It's easier than it looks, you'll learn in no time."

Harry continued talking rapidly about everything he had in his room, from cards to board games, magazines and toys. Tom listened in silence - at least until he spotted something large hanging from the ceiling, concealed by an old cloth.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Where? Oh, that's my owl's cage. She usually sleeps during the day, unless I want to send a letter. Let me show you," Harry lifted the cloth revealing a large snow owl. It was no longer sleeping, most likely due to the commotion. "Hi, Hedwig."

Harry opened the cage and started petting her, after which he invited Tom to do the same. As the boy extended his hand, the bird lunged at him in a sudden motion, biting with its beak.

"Hedwig! Bad bird! She normally doesn't do that, maybe because you're new… Are you okay?"

Tom didn't reply, and just looked at the bird in silence instead. His hand was on the cage door, and a small trickle of blood was slowly running down his finger. Harry looked on at the scene in confusion, not knowing what to do.

The owl and the boy seemed to be locked in a staring contest. After a moment, Hedwig made a horrifying screech, a sound that didn't even seem to belong to an owl. She flew out of her cage at speed, narrowly missing both of the boys, and began circling the room.

"Hedwig! What's gotten into you? Stop this" cried Harry.

The bird didn't listen and continued flying in this deranged fashion. Then, it suddenly changed directions, and flew right at the closed window, hitting it head-on.

The impact shattered the window into pieces, imbedding some of them in the owl. Knocked out, she fell straight down on the other side, onto the bushes below. And laid there, unmoving.

* * *

Mr. Potter fortunately heard the commotion, and quickly apperated away with Hedwig to seek help. In spite of how grim the accident looked to be, the owl recovered. However, it's cause remained a mystery.

Mr. Potter inferred that Hedwig probably got scared, and then blinded by the light, didn't notice that the window was closed – a mistake very commonly made by birds, which get confused by large reflective panes.

He decided that nobody was to blame for the incident, although Harry was told to be cautious as to not blind her again, and keep the cage locked until she got used to Tom. What Mr. Potter kept to himself however, was that taking Hedwig to Hogwarts might be a bad idea.

In less than a year the boys would be going to school, and Mr. Potter decided to prepare them for it. He started telling them general facts about the Wizarding World and magic, mostly for Tom's benefit, but he soon found out that Harry was also lacking in fundamental knowledge.

And so, five times a week, began lessons. Mr. Potter not only assigned reading, but even homework and tests. Tom proved himself to be an excellent student, whereas Harry began to lag behind – instead of studying he occupied himself with Quidditch. Only on his broom he could be alone, and forget about his sudden new responsibilities.

Although, not everything went smoothly even in that. He lost the golden Snitch somewhere, and despite flying around for hours, he wasn't capable of finding it. As his father refused to buy him a new Snitch until he improved his studies, Harry was now unable to practice being a seeker.

With Tom's arrival, everything in Harry's life seemed to take a slight turn for worse. He thought that it would be fun to have a new friend, but instead he got a competitor. He always felt as if Tom was trying to show off, or rub in his failures.

They have been spending their free time separately: Harry on his broom, and Tom either in the library, or in his room. He felt that this made his father disappointed, but Harry did not make an effort to change it, as he could not bring himself to like Tom. The Hedwig incident was always on the back of his mind.

A month had passed, and Mr. Potter finally decided that he would do something about the antipathy that the boys felt towards each other. A break from studying was in order, and an opportunity for them to bond: a trip to the mountains.


	4. Prologue: Harry James Potter, Part Two

The world finally stopped spinning as the Portkey dropped Harry, his father, and Tom on top of a small hill. They hit the grass, spraying cold water and mud everywhere.

The surrounding landscape was rather monotonous, yet still beautiful and mysterious; grass planes and hills stretched into the distance, obscured by a thick, white fog. The grass was dark green, wet with the morning dew.

"Where is the mountain?" asked Harry, as he peered into the mist.

"Yes, where is it?" agreed Tom. "I thought the Portkey would take us straight to the summit."

"C'mon boys, where would be the fun in that? This entire trip would take fifteen minutes!" laughed Mr. Potter. "The whole point is walking there on foot – don't cast spells that live your life for you. Let's go."

They walked down the hill onto an unpaved road. The mud was split apart by tires, and full of standing water.

Despite the visibility in the morning being quite bad, Mr. Potter was confident in his lead. After walking for a bit they came upon a crossroads, thankfully labeled with white signs.

"East Proctor – that is where we're headed," proclaimed Mr. Potter, hands on his hips and head proudly extended.

"Is the mountain there?" asked Harry, already a little bored.

"No, it's actually in the opposite direction. We're going to the village, because we need to borrow something."

"Borrow what?"

"You'll see," replied his father and started whistling as he continued walking.

Before they even saw the village, it's existence was heralded by passing vehicles. First they had to make way for an old car, then a truck transporting sheep. Soon, old rural houses surrounded by low fences started showing up, also with sheep grazing nearby.

"More sheep," observed Mr. Potter. "This just won't do."

They walked to the center of the village, where they found a pub. Mr. Potter told the boys to wait, and went inside. After fifteen minutes he reappeared.

"Let's go, boys!" he said. "Now I know exactly where to go."

They took a narrow path uphill, which ended, as expected, with another rural house. But, this time there was no fence surrounding it; just small, but steep hills. Goats stood on top of them, some laid in the grass below. They all stared at the newcomers with beady eyes.

"Splendid, just what we were looking for," said Mr. Potter and walked towards an old man, who sat in front of the house, sleeping. "My good man, I would like to borrow your largest, and finest goat."

"Wha? You want to buy some cheese? Milk?" the man was woken up by the question, and wasn't even able to process it yet.

"No, show me your biggest goat!" repeated Mr. Potter.

"Damn tourists," grumbled the man under his breath, and with great strain, stood up. He walked over to a white goat, which did seem larger and older than its brethren.

"What a magnificent specimen," praised Mr. Potter and started petting the animal. "Tell me, what is its name?"

"Judas," replied the old man. "They're all called Judas."

"Very well then, we'll take him," decided Mr. Potter, and took out some Muggle money. "Will this be enough?"

"You want to buy the goat?" the old man was confused.

"No, just borrow it, we'll bring Judas right back."

The old man clearly wanted to ask more questions, but decided against it. The prospect of getting paid was more important. With the goat on a long leash, they set off out of town.

"What do we need the goat for?" asked Harry, who was just as confused by the event as the old man.

"Are we going to sacrifice it?" added Tom, looking back at the animal.

"No, we're not going to hurt Judas. He's with us for our protection - we'll need him if we are to go to the mountains."

This explanation raised more questions than it answered, however Mr. Potter would not divulge anything else. They set off, backtracking all the way to where they started from, and further beyond.

The morning fog was blown away by cold winds, and the mountain range came into view, towering above the valley. It still took hours to get near it, through the forests and tiny streams. As time passed, the sky grew dark with clouds, and soon the first drops of rain began to fall.

Mr. Potter pressed on, in hopes of the weather clearing up, but it soon was clear that this was not to be. The rain became ever heavier, mercilessly pelting the travelers, along with the cold mountain winds. When thunder struck dangerously close, they had no choice but to stop.

"We'll set up the tent here," shouted Mr. Potter through the rain. "The climb will have to wait until tomorrow."

He waved his wand, and a tent shot out of his backpack, unfolding as it flew. Then shot out the pegs, pinning it to the ground, and the setup was complete in mere moments. It looked like a normal tent for three people, but as with all Wizard tents, it was much larger on the inside.

They quickly went in, leaving the goat protected from the elements under a small roof over the entrance. Mr. Potter dried everyone with a flick of his wand, and they waited. However, the rain would not let up that day.

* * *

When Harry woke up the next morning, he felt as if something was amiss. He figured it out soon enough: it was the silence, the lack of rain drops bouncing off the tent. He rushed outside, and sure enough, the weather was a complete opposite of yesterday's.

Outside of everything being wet, with small streams of water running down the path, it was surprisingly warm for an early morning, with not a single cloud in the sky. Eager to set out, he checked on his dad, but found him sound asleep.

Not wanting to wake him, Harry went back to his own room and packed his belongings. When that was done, he ate a couple of packed sandwiches for breakfast. Then an idea popped into his head: what was Tom doing?

He paused right before going inside Tom's room, wanting to announce his presence somehow. However, as everything was made of cloth, there was no way to knock. He simply parted the fabric, and peered inside.

"Tom?" he quietly called out.

The room looked exactly the same as his, apart from an extra desk with some books lying around. Then he spotted the bed, and to his surprise, it was completely empty. Curious, he stepped inside.

There was no sign of Tom anywhere. Harry found his backpack next to the bed, so he couldn't have run away, only his boots were missing. Then he moved his search to the desk.

There lied a couple of books that he was supposed to read as well, something about Hogwarts, and "Wizarding Tradition". The only thing he didn't recognize was a book titled "Greek and Roman Mythology". It looked boring enough, but there was a bookmark stuck in it, so Harry decided to open it up.

"_Asclepius – Greek god of medicine and healing. Born a human, although by some accounts son of Apollo. A serpent entwined on a staff is his attribute, which is where St Mungo's Hospital gets its symbol._

_Young Asclepius, already a famous healer, was commanded by the king of Crete, Minos, to attend to prince Glaucus. When Asclepius arrived in Crete, he found Glaucus long dead from grievous wounds. Furious at the bad news, Minos sentenced Asclepius to death. _

_Asclepius was thrown into prison to await execution. As he was pondering his fate, a snake crawled up to him, and in fear, Asclepius struck it down with his staff. Soon a second snake appeared, this one carrying a herb in its jaws. It placed the herb in the dead snake's mouth, which miraculously brought it back to life. Seeing this, Asclepius later used the same herb to restore Glaucus to the living. _

_Now possessing the secret of life and death, Asclepius traveled the world as a healer, bringing back to life anyone he could. However, not all were pleased with his actions. In order to stabilize the human population, and to punish him for wielding such a godlike power, Zeus struck him down with a bolt of lightning. _

_At a plea from Apollo, Zeus later brought back Asclepius to life and allowed him to join the ranks of Olympus, on a condition that he would neither use, nor pass on his secret."_

Harry closed the book, as what he read made him feel awful. Tom lost both of his parents, and was now looking for answers in magic. In retrospect, his negative feelings towards him felt petty and mean - perhaps he should have given him another chance.

From the day they'd met, instinct told Harry that there was something wrong with Tom. But, that first impression must have been wrong. Tom was just like him, they both lost their mothers after all, and he knew the feeling of wanting to do anything to get her back - even if he didn't even know her.

"What are you doing?" asked Tom from the entrance, interrupting Harry's internal struggle, and catching him in the act of trespass.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't know where you were," hurriedly explained Harry as Tom was walking towards him.

"I think I remember telling you not to touch my things," he snatched the book from Harry's hands, and started staring him down. "This entire room is mine, and you're standing in it."

"I know, and I'm sorry, and not just for this," Harry continued. "I know that the last month must have been hard for you, and I haven't treated you properly. I avoided you and worse, I think I was jealous or something… can we please start over? I don't want to fight."

Harry extended his hand, which Tom ignored, and continued staring at him instead.

"Your father is awake, and he wants to talk to us," he said after a moment, and walked out of the room.

Harry exhaled, and followed him out. Indeed, Mr. Potter was awake and drinking tea. However, he was dressed in too fine a robe for a hike in the mountains. Something was up.

"There you are, Harry," he said after putting down his cup. "I've got news for you, boys. I have to go to London for a couple hours. I'm sorry that our hike will have to wait, but I've received an important owl. If you want to head out exploring on your own, I'll allow it. But, remember - bring the goat with you."

Mr. Potter stood up, and straightened his robes. After bidding them farewell, he disappeared with a crack. An uneasy silence descended over the tent.

"I don't think we'll ever climb that mountain," Harry was the first one to speak, determined to get through to Tom. "How do you think the goat can protect us, though?"

"Maybe it stinks so much, that even monsters run away from it," joked Tom, and they shared a short laugh. Harry was relieved, he took it as a hint that Tom also wanted to start over. And it went so easy, he was more than certain that he was wrong about him.

"Do you know who sent your father this owl?" Tom continued the conversation.

"No idea. Maybe an Auror wants his help, or even Dumbledore," eagerly explained Harry. "That's usually the one who wants something. My dad is no longer an Auror himself, but he still helps out."

"Dumbledore? Isn't that the Hogwarts Headmaster?"

"Right, but he also is on the Wizengamot and fights dark wizards. He's the greatest wizard alive, supposedly."

Tom fell silent, and began playing with a ring on his finger. It was golden, with a finely cut black gem on top.

"Wow, where did you get that?"

"It was left to me by my… uncle," he said, but when Harry began expressing his condolences, Tom stopped him. "Don't apologize, I didn't know him that well - I only met him once. He wasn't a very, how do you put it, nice man."

Harry had one more question on his mind, but somehow couldn't bring himself to say it, and just opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"You want to say something," noticed Tom. "Go ahead, I won't bite."

"So… where were you this morning?" he finally asked.

"I can show you, if you want," replied Tom, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Sure," eagerly nodded Harry.

And so they left the tent, remembering to bring the goat. It was grazing nearby, still tied to one of the stakes, and bleated merrily as it saw them.

The ground was still damp and muddy, so they stayed on the more rocky path. Their camp was right at the foot of the mountain, and so after a few moments they left the forest completely, vast open space before them.

"Is it far away?" asked Harry as the ascent got steeper. Despite how mellow and grassy this part of the mountain looked from a distance, it was still quite a hike.

"We're nearly there," said Tom, and took a smaller side trail that run along the mountain. "It's in this little valley ahead of us. You'll like it."

There was in fact a small valley, neatly hidden from both sides by the mountains, and by the forest from below. A few large rocks were scattered around it, with a more massive formation at its end. In contrast to the surrounding landscape, the valley was completely barren.

"Nice," praised Harry, but Tom hasn't stopped yet, and lead him right to the end. Then he pointed with his hand at something. "Wait, is that a cave? It's huge!"

"Want to go inside?" suggested Tom. "I brought a lamp."

Harry agreed immediately, and Tom handed him the lantern from his backpack. At a suggestion from Tom, Harry tied the goat to one of the rocks, and they headed in.

The entrance was quite large, but paled in comparison to the cavern inside. Jagged limestone arched into a ceiling over 20 feet above them, and the far side of the room disappeared into the darkness. The air was fresh, and surprisingly cool.

"Can you hear that?" said Harry. When they moved deeper along the rocky cave floor, the lantern finally illuminated what they were hearing. "Water!"

They saw a turquoise pool of water, which run further into the depths like an underground river. Crystal clear and dazzlingly reflecting the lantern's light, it was truly astonishing.

The boys didn't stop there, and moved on to the next room. In it, they found a break in the ceiling which let in natural light, illuminating a waterfall which crashed against the rocks many feet below.

"Let's go down there, I think I see a path," said Tom and pointed to a steep and narrow pathway. "You go first, and light the way."

Harry took the lead, but with the lantern in his hand, and the loose rocks under his feet, it was quite the challenge. Inevitably, he slipped, and kept sliding down, unable to stop himself. He let go of the lantern, and it shattered against the rocks below, spilling burning liquid everywhere.

After sliding down a few more feet, he finally run out of ground, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, began to fall. Then came a brief moment of weightlessness, but in the end, he thankfully hit something far softer than rocks.

It was the water which broke his fall. He quickly swam to the surface, and got out of the nearly freezing pond, completely soaked. The spilled lamp oil burned right beside it.

"Are you okay?" called out Tom. "I'll try to find another way down."

"I'm fine!" shouted back Harry, his voice reverberating in the cave. However, with all the noise they made, they woke up something which called this place home.

A low, guttural cry of a beast came from the darkness. As it was walking towards Harry, each footstep felt as though the ground was shaking.

The burning oil highlighted a silhouette of a gigantic, although weirdly proportioned, humanoid. It was twice as tall than the tallest man, it's skin the sandy beige of the limestone around it, and it's body partially covered in sheep skin.

"A troll!" Harry cried, as the beast continued lumbering towards him. "Tom, run!"

Instinctively, he put the blazing pool of oil between himself and the monster, which seemed to make it hesitate a little. Encouraged by this, Harry picked up the metal remains of the lamp, and threw it at the troll.

The metal painfully burned his hand, but it was worth it. There was some oil still left inside the bent metal, and it spilled on the troll, which started desperately putting it out with its gigantic hands, all the while roaring angrily.

Harry took this opportunity, and started running away. The screams of the troll, amplified by the cave, painfully rung in his ears. His sight was blinded by the fire, and as such wasn't of much use either, just making him stumble around blindly.

Then, he finally noticed something which looked like a passage going up, tight enough that the troll wouldn't be able to follow. He began climbing up on all fours, his heart pounding in his ears.

The bestial cries and roars continued coming from behind him, as he desperately climbed in the darkness, sometimes slipping, sometimes cutting his hands on the jagged rock. However, he pressed on, and soon the passage opened up.

Harry found himself near the top of the waterfall, right at the place where he started the descent. However, there was no sign of Tom. Harry's heart sank when he heard a roar coming from the entrance chamber.

He run there as fast as he could, and with his eyes now used to the dark, he saw another troll, just as big as the first. Tom was hiding in an alcove formed by the limestone wall, barely tall enough for him to climb under, which was all that protected him for the moment.

The troll was smashing the wall with a club, creating clouds of dust and rock, enraged at being unable to get to its pray. Then, it tried to reach Tom with its brutish hands.

"HEY! Over here!" screamed Harry, and began throwing every rock that he could get his hands on at the troll. "Run, Tom, run!"

The troll got the hint and turned around, while smashing everything in vicinity. Tom didn't wait even a second, crawled from under the rock, and started running out of the cave. The monster in its rage didn't even notice him.

The beast roared and began charging towards Harry. It was a terrifying sight: a giant, 12-foot mass of flesh, consumed by anger. Harry did plan slightly ahead though, as he was standing right at the edge of the first pool of water. In the last moment, he dived underneath.

The troll completely missed Harry, falling over once the water got too deep, and colliding with a wall. A few rocks fell from above, breaking against the beast's back. Its roars felt so loud, as though they would collapse the whole cave.

Harry crawled out of the water, which once again saved him from harm. The troll was dazed, but after a moment began lumbering towards him once more. Harry started backing away, but soon stumbled and fell, the troll towering above him.

The beast began rising its club, and it seemed as if all was lost for Harry. But then came an unexpected sound from the entrance: a bleating of a goat. It was Tom who decided to come back, and took the animal with him.

This had an astonishing effect on the troll. The beast lowered its club, and the seemingly limitless anger it displayed, vanished in an instant, now replaced by fear. It started backing away, and when the bleating repeated, lost its composure completely and run away in panic.

"Are you alright?" said Tom as he approached Harry with the goat.

"You came back!" exclaimed Harry, adrenaline coursing through his veins. "And saved my life, I don't know how to thank you enough."

"You saved me from the troll first, I say we're about even," replied Tom and extended his hand. "You said that you wanted to start over?"

"Friends it is then," Harry's face split into a large smile, and he shook Tom's hand.

* * *

(AN) The prologue is over.


	5. The House of Slytherin

(AN) Two things: the story from here on out will take place in the seventh year. Dates of birth of nearly all characters are altered, however by various amounts.

* * *

The potions classroom was filled with peculiar vapors, emanating from several bubbling cauldrons. Despite it being the first day after the Feast, it seemed that for the seventh-year students the hard work had already begun.

While those unfortunate souls were frantically preparing ingredients and trying to decipher complex instructions from their textbooks, Professor Horace Slughorn was casually strolling from desk to desk, sometimes offering a hint, or a witty remark.

"Good work so far, Rosier, although do wash your hands, they're quite filthy. Ha, I wouldn't want to touch anything with them either - here you go: _Scourgify_," he said and flicked his wand, disappearing the mess.

"This reminds me of a most interesting incident that happened a few years ago, during a first-year potions class. The students had a simple task of brewing a basic rejuvenating tonic, which has about the same effect as a strong cup of coffee, although sadly none of the taste.

"One of the students, a Muggle-born, had trouble writing with a quill, and her hands got completely covered in ink. Ah, the first year can be quite challenging for the Muggle-born, but back the potion – what do you think happened? The potion turned black? Perhaps it lost all its properties? You have to look at what has actually been added.

"Do any of you know how ink is made? You use it every day, or at least I hope you do. Quite surprisingly, the main ingredient of the good old 'iron-gall ink' is something called an oak apple.

"No, not an actual apple, but a spherical growth found on oak leaves and branches. You see, when a wasp lays its egg in the growing bud of a tree, a tumor is formed, and it encases the larva. When the larva matures it bores its way out, and all that is left is this small but hard nut.

"These gallnuts are what is used to make ink, and also what has produced a quite unusual effect in the first-year's potion. The whole mixture rose up into the air, as if it were a swarm of tiny insects. Of course, the effect didn't last very long, and the potion fell on the unfortunate student. Don't worry, a quick trip to the hospital wing fixed her right up.

"Who would have guessed, that something as inconsequential as ink, could have had such a profound effect? This is why you should always take great care as to what makes its way into your cauldron. Especially watch out for hair, and even mere dust can affect the potency of the potion."

Professor Slughorn finished his story, and continued to leisurely walk through the classroom, satisfied. He loved hearing himself talk, however it also did have a positive effect on how interesting the students found his lessons.

"Now, what do we have here - Riddle, Potter, lazing about, huh?" Slughorn joked as he noticed how in contrast to their colleagues, they seemed to just be watching their cauldron slowly bubble.

"Not at all, Professor, it is just very crucial that in the final stages the potion should not be disturbed while it's heated," answered Tom.

"I'm surprised at how fast you've done this boys, and by the looks of it, quite nicely too. Somebody's been preparing for their N.E.W.T.s," said Slughorn while taking a closer look at their work. "Have you given any thought as to your future after Hogwarts? Any carrier paths in mind?"

"I've always wanted to be an Auror, sir," replied Harry. "Just as my dad was."

"Ah, yes, he was one of the best. Shame that he retired," reminisced Slughorn, his smile suddenly wavering a little. "Understandable though, after Lily had passed. She was so young, such a tragedy."

It seemed as though Slughorn had lost himself in his thoughts, and the conversation would end there, but he managed to once again put on a jovial face and ask, "What about you Tom? Minister of Magic, no doubt?"

"No, that's way too small a title," joked Tom. "Honestly though, I was never a big fan of politics – I have other interests."

"Ha! You have a lot of options in front of you, my boy. It's only natural to hesitate - by God, you're still all so young! I had no clue what I wanted to do at seventeen, it was only later that I seriously took up potion-making," Slughorn now addressed the whole classroom. "N.E.W.T.s are important, they open doors for you. But remember: you learn your whole life. Your education doesn't stop at Hogwarts."

At last, the bell rung and the class came to an end. Slughorn collected the potions, which were in vastly different stages of completeness, and the students begun filing out of the classroom.

* * *

"You have to finally tell me about your summer internship," Harry engaged Tom as they were walking to the Great Hall for supper. "I barely saw you during the Holidays."

"You know I can't talk about that," evaded Tom. "It even says so in the name."

"What, have the Unspeakables invented some sort of an unbreakable vow?" joked Harry. "I didn't know that you would relinquish your free will so easily."

"No, but they could dose me with Veritaserum if they suspect me of treason. And betraying Ministry's secrets is just that – treason."

"I thought you didn't care about the Ministry. I was surprised that you ever wanted to work for them."

"I don't want to work for them," quickly replied Tom, as they entered the Great Hall. "I only signed up because I was curious. You know what, I'll tell you all about it next weekend. See you in Hogsmeade, deal?"

Harry left for the Gryffindor table, satisfied. They had been friends ever since the cave incident, at least as much as Tom could be friends with anybody. Tom was well liked, and outwardly polite to students from all other houses, but Harry knew that he was the only Gryffindor that he truly respected.

Tom headed for the Slytherin table, to his, let's say, circle of supporters. If asked, he would describe them as friends or even family, and to an outsider that could even be believable. At a glance, he would just seem to be the most popular of them. However, he had far more authority among them than just that.

"Tom, I heard you did amazing at potions, as usual," said Regulus Black, a fifth-year, as he pulled back a chair for Tom. "Have you read the prophet yet? You weren't there for the morning post."

"Why? Did they print anything of interest?" asked Tom as he sat down.

"Goblins, goblins and more goblins," replied Lucius, the heir of the pureblood Malfoy family. "The shriveled midgets are still screeching in front of Gringotts."

"I couldn't get half my books because of those bastards," complained Lestrange, for whom evidently literature was a vested interest. "No way to withdraw money, except by post. And that takes literal ages."

"It's an embarrassment that the Ministry ever gave them control over our money," Malfoy shook his head. "They claim it's the safest place, out of reach of any politician. When did the goblins suddenly become apolitical?"

"Anybody know why they're protesting?" asked Evan Rosier. "I hope it's not another rebellion. The letter they sent out just said 'internal dispute' or something."

"I hope it's a rebellion, I'd love to have an excuse to curse some goblins," proclaimed Lucius. "They wouldn't stand a chance against Wizards. Also, knowing them, it's probably about money - they're trying to bleed Gringotts dry."

"Of course it's about money," agreed Lestrange. "They're not called greedy bastards for nothing. I heard that's the whole origin of the word 'goblin'. They're just like magpies."

"Gringotts won't allow them to protest for long, sooner or later they will have to put a stop to this," continued Lucius. "If it's not a rebellion, at least I'm hoping for a goblin civil war. No curse is capable of doing as brutal of a job, as what one goblin can do to another."

"Hey, ever heard the one about the House-elf, the Gnome and the Goblin?" begun Rosier.

They joked about goblins some more, before the conversation died out, and they continued eating. On some of their minds remained the Prophet's column on the world news, which had a permanent place in the newspaper ever since the Second World War.

However, since it mostly gave updates on the Muggle Cold War, none of them would seriously consider mentioning it. A member of the Slytherin house couldn't risk exposing their concern, and especially fear, over the looming threat of a nuclear war.

Their official stance was that no Muggle could ever hope to threaten a Wizard, and to claim otherwise was ridiculous. Let them kill each other, who cares? Also, it was important to feign complete ignorance about anything Muggle related, such as by remembering any technological term completely wrong - not that they really had any understanding of such things.

"If anyone finds out more about the Great Goblin Crisis of '62, let me know," said Tom as he stood up. "I need to take care of some things. Meet you in the Room."

His friends reacted with polite laughter at his joke, and Tom Riddle left the Hall. He headed down, towards the dungeons.

* * *

Most of the lower section of the castle was finished in dark stone, as if perpetually wet from the lake above. There were far less portraits, and no tapestries. However, the oldest parts of the castle were a completely different color, pale and ancient. Tom reached the dead end of one such corridor, seemingly with no way forward. He drew his wand, and touched an ancient crest decorating the stone. The wall parted before him, not unlike the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Beyond the wall was a spiral staircase, going even further down than the dungeons. When he reached the end of the slippery steps, he was met with total darkness. He waved his wand, and a row of torches hanging on the walls lit up, going for so far that they almost disappeared in the distance.

They illuminated a long brick tunnel, spherical in cross-section, with two narrow walkways by the walls. On the bottom of the tunnel run a river of crystal clear water, which supplied the whole of Hogwarts. It was as if an underground aqueduct. The bizarre thing about it, was that the water run uphill towards Hogwarts, completely defying gravity. Tom set off on a long walk to its far end.

The water source itself, as well as the little river, were both protected by powerful charms, ensuring their safety and purity. The place was so foolproof, that it was only checked about once a generation, and that is if the current Headmaster even bothered to remember. Thick metal bars, untouched by corrosion despite the water, barred entry to the source itself.

However, there was a natural cave formation right next to it. Tom went in, lighting the way with his wand. Strangely, he did not point the light at his feet, and directed it right at the ceiling instead- there he found a circular opening. He jabbed his wand at it, shooting a blasting curse into the hole.

Wooden planks fell from the ceiling, completely smashed to bits. Red rays of the setting sun were now shining through the opening, revealing its original purpose as an old, abandoned well. Through some natural change in the underground, there was no more water under that well for a long time.

Tom opened his bag, producing a shrunken rope ending with a bucket. He waved his wand once more, unshrinking the items, and making the rope shoot upwards. It tied itself to the metal crank mechanism of the well. He pulled on the rope, and was satisfied by its sturdiness. However, he still had one more thing to do today.

* * *

Severus Snape locked himself in an abandoned dungeon classroom, eager to finally begin working on his potion projects. He waited for this his entire summer, as the situation at home prevented him from pursing his interests.

His father was a Muggle, and a Muggle which mistrusted all forms of Magic. He wouldn't tolerate somebody making brewing experiments in his house, and weird ingredients were likewise prohibited. His mother was a witch, but possessing only basic skill in potion-making, didn't disagree with her husband for a change. His only option for the last two months was reading theory.

The Draught of Peace was a complex concoction to brew, which required exceptional precision in preparation. Each ingredient had to be weighted ahead of time, and added at just the right moment – the smallest hesitation could spell failure. It was almost as if confidence of the brewer was one of the ingredients.

Snape further complicated the instructions, stretching the complexity of the potion to a ridiculous limit. This was precisely what he enjoyed, and after half an hour the potion was finally complete, purer and more potent than any textbook instruction would allow.

"Congratulations!" said Tom from right behind him. "It appears to be perfect."

"Holy shit," Snape dropped the empty vial that he was holding, and it shattered against the floor. "Tom Riddle? How did you even get in?"

"Severus Snape, isn't it?" Tom waved his wand, making the vial reassemble itself and hover mid-air. Snape accepted it, unnerved. "You see, a locked door can make a secret stand out far more than an open one."

"Do you," Snape swallowed, "Need something?"

"I'm just admiring your work, it's not often that you find somebody with such a talent. You'll be taking your O.W.L.s this year, correct?" Snape nodded, "Have you given any thought to what you'll be doing after?"

"After what? Hogwarts? I always wanted to be a potions master, I think."

"Hmm, I don't know if I remember this right, so don't get offended – you are a Half-blood, aren't you? Your father is a Muggle?" Snape nodded again, this time reluctantly. "This might make your dream… quite difficult."

"Wait, why?"

"Some, not me mind you, wouldn't trust a potion made by one of impure blood. It takes a lot of trust to drink a potion made by another wizard in the first place. But, they think impure touch pollutes the final product, and you surely know how belief can be important on the consumer's part. It could be really tough to make a living."

"I didn't know, I thought it wouldn't make a difference," Snape was clearly shaken a little by those news.

"I've seen it happen before, it could turn out that only Muggle-borns and blood traitors would employ you. Before you know it, you'd be making tonics for their Muggle families," Tom spoke, almost with sorrow in his voice. "Reputation is so important in that profession. It would be a tragedy if such talent went to waste. But, I think, I might be able to help you."

"Really? I mean, maybe it would be prudent to have a way to deal with those too ignorant," said Snape, not even managing to hide the almost desperate hope in his eyes. Spending so much time alone, studying and brewing, made him wear his emotions on his sleeve. Even simple interactions with other people made his heart beat faster, not to mention a conversation like this.

"I think I have a perfect solution," Tom patted Snape on the back. "Let me introduce you to a certain group of likeminded individuals, who also want to carve a place in the world for themselves. They form a network of a sort, and joining would enable you to go far. It would be… prestigious. It could do a lot of good for you."

"Would they really accept a Half-blood?"

"True, they do respect blood, but they also respect power. If you really are as talented as I think - it will be enough. So, do you accept my proposition?" Tom extended his hand.

"It couldn't hurt, I guess," Snape hesitated a little. "I accept."

* * *

Tom and Snape went up from the dungeons, climbing all the way until they reached the seventh floor. When they left the tight staircase, they found themselves in a long corridor, with large windows overlooking the Forbidden Forrest. The sun had already set, but the sky was still somewhat bright, with a crescent moon hanging above the dark trees.

They turned into a wider, main corridor, devoid of windows, but with extravagant tapestries hanging on both sides, lit by smokeless torches. Tom stopped across from a bizarre depiction of dancing trolls, and told Snape to stand back. He walked by the empty wall three times, and once he completed the ritual, a doorway materialized itself from thin air.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement," Tom said as he opened the door, beckoning Snape to step through.

Inside, there was a small crowd of students already, mainly wearing robes accented with green, but one could also spot blue, yellow and even red. They sat on various chairs, some of them played cards on a round table, and several danced to the music that came from the wireless. There was even a small bar, fully stocked, as if straight from the Ogden's Emporium. Here and there, one could spot clouds of Wizard tobacco, slowly rising towards the ceiling.

"Tom!" a girl with meticulously done black hair jumped up from one of the soft seats, and took him by the arm. "I haven't seen you in so long, have a drink with me."

"You know I don't drink, Bella."

"Just one, c'mon it'll be fun," as she dragged Tom to the bar, he motioned Snape to follow.

Bellatrix Black uncorked a bottle of champagne, hoping that the low alcohol content wouldn't prevent Tom from partaking. Over the last year she developed a certain obsession over him, however one that he did not reciprocate.

"Also pour one for my new friend over here," Tom motioned to Snape. As she was busy with the glasses, Tom discretely whispered to him. "Check if you don't smell anything odd. You never know."

Snape's eyes widened, but he took the swapped by Tom glass, and did his task - only then did Tom try his. Bella proceeded to chat Tom up, but he did not pay much attention, and was looking around the crowd instead.

"What is that I see by the cards table," Tom said as he spotted a ginger head of hair. "Who invited this blood traitor?"

"It was Lucius," Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "How dare he pollute your home like this - I'm going to throw that _thing_ out right now."

"Calm down, Bella," Tom gently grabbed her arm, as she was already drawing her wand. "I'm going to take care of this. Why don't you show Severus around, I'll be back soon."

The cards table was quite a big attraction of the evening, with a lot of people gathered around. Stacks of bronze, silver and even gold coins sat in front of each participant, along with ashtrays, and booze for those stupid enough to play while inebriated.

Lucius Malfoy was the one mostly responsible for its organization, and also the one who usually profited the most. Participation wasn't of course free, but this was the safest place to gamble, which made Tom Riddle a small, but steady stream of money.

"Goblins? My brother knows all about them," said Ron Weasley, the owner of the ginger head of hair. "He works for Gringotts, you know."

"What does he know?" asked one of the players.

"That they're greedy sons of bitches, haha!" Weasley boomed, and took another sip of his drink.

"Lucius, can I borrow you for a moment?" Tom said over the table.

"Tom? Hey, don't tell Harry that I'm here," Ron continued. "He doesn't like me gambling."

"Lucius?" Tom repeated, ignoring him. Malfoy folded his hand, and followed Tom to the bar. "Do you mind explaining what is he doing here? I do allow other houses at these parties, but we must have some standards. No Mudbloods, and no blood traitors, you know that."

"Yes Lucius, do you mind explaining that," Bellatrix repeated after Tom.

"I didn't invite him because I like him," Lucius said with a grimace. "He came into a lot of money recently. Won some Prophet's lottery, enough to take his family to Egypt and to still have a pile left over."

"And you plan to take it all for yourself."

"It's not just about that, and you know I'll give a part of of it to you, for allowing him in," Malfoy kept his cool demeanor. "It's about having him lose it all. You know how these poor people are - they don't know what to do with it. They just spend it all as soon as they can, this is the sole reason why they're poor in the first place. I want him to be broke again, I want him to spend his every last Knut on even more lottery tickets, until the day he finally hangs himself."

"I don't know about you Tom, but he's got me convinced," said Bellatrix, smiling.

"What do you think Severus, should we let Ron Weasley stay?" Tom didn't wait for Snape to answer. "Lucius, you have my blessing. Let him play here, until he loses everything, and then… offer him some more. Once he gets into debt, direct him to me."

"What do you want with him?" Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"This whole goblin thing has my interest, why are they rising against one another? This has not happened since, well, a long time," Tom swirled the champagne in his glass. "If his brother really works for Gringotts, he might know something. Now go, hurry back to your game."

Lucius left them by the bar, and quickly retook his seat. Tom closed his eyes, and listened to the buzz of the students around him, thinking something over in his head. Time quickly flew by, and a loud chime could soon be heard in the room.

"Dear guests, I'm afraid that this is it for the evening," Tom announced, magically projecting his voice over the crowd. "The curfew is nearly upon us, and I've received word that the janitor is patrolling nearby. Thank you for coming."

The crowd was disappointed, but they did as they were told. In a few moments the room was much emptier, only a dozen or so remained. They were the Slytherins chosen by Tom for their talents, blood, or just plain usefulness.

Tom went over to the cards table and jumped up on top. When they gathered in front of him, a subtle change came over him, and he begun speaking. There was a slightly unnerving quality to his voice, but at the same time it was quite captivating.

"At last alone, my friends. I am glad that you are here, for I have something to tell you. As you know, for me, and for many of you, this is the last year that we will be spending in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"In the years past, we have done many great things together, both arcane, and mundane. We did as much as we could, considering being confined to this castle. However, as we read in the newspapers, and hear in our homes: it is far from enough.

"Faithful, enlightened, ambitious brethren! You are dissatisfied with the world - I can feel it. Blood no longer matters, Wizards bend to the convenience of Muggles, and Magic has become just a tool; a set of bizarre rules with no real meaning behind them.

"This rift with tradition, the desacralization of our very lives - it all begun before we were even born. It was the lofty Renaissance ideals of reason and liberty, that have mercilessly shaken and torn down much more than anyone has ever bargained for.

"I am talking about the 'Death of God', the loss of any connection to the transcendental, to the real meaning behind Magic - now all that we have left is man. And what a pathetic creature he has become!

"In our world there is no good, no evil, no absolute morality; what is left is whatever is advantageous to the individual. And for the masses that means whatever lets them live in peace and comfort.

"This is the attitude of the whole Wizarding World: social conformism founded on convenience, hypocrisy, and cowardice! We are drifting in an open sea with no anchor, in a ship made out of lifeless remnants of the past. And this ship is slowly sinking.

"Make no mistake: tradition is dead, and no spell or incantation can bring it back. We are free, free to do as we please, with nothing to stop us! However, this freedom is a trial - a test of our worthiness. We have to persist in this meaningless existence. At least until we forge something new.

"Now, I say to you: will you stand with me, as we discover new values, find new meaning, and out of these chaotic waters, create a NEW WORLD?"


	6. The Body, the Soul, and the Spirit

The History of Magic section of the Hogwarts Library seemed to be the most disused part of the entire school. While every abandoned chamber of the castle saw an occasional student (or two) using it in secrecy from time to time, nearly nobody visited the History section apart from ghosts. A deep layer of dust covered its bookshelves, and combined with the cobwebs on top, it made the titles completely unintelligible.

However, now there was a single student sitting by the table, reading from a particularly large volume. Tom Riddle was the one visiting this decrepit place today, and for some reason on a Saturday morning of all days. He had to magically clear the dust from his vicinity, which seemed to want to cover the entire table all over again, hanging in the air around him.

Tom was reading from a collection of various translated Ancient Greek texts. The vast majority of them were complete drudgery, but he managed to find one which interested him in particular: the only surviving speech of Herpo the Foul. It also happened to be his last one, given right before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, in 79 AD:

"_Slaves of the Lion-Headed Serpent: Rejoice! The very earth shudders in anticipation at what is to come. Do not fear, do not run, as today we return to the noumenal light. _

_Know that I was once like you: blind, asleep, foolish. Yet, I was granted all three gifts - vision, awareness and wisdom – and it became clear to me that this world is a trap, an abomination fashioned by a flawed artisan._

_The purpose behind it was never revealed to me; whether it be malice or misguided love, or perhaps something wholly incomprehensible. It did not matter, as there was only one path left – a path that would undo it all. _

_The discovery that the living spring from the dead plunged me into despair, tore my very soul apart, anchoring me even deeper into this material world. For even in death there is no escape from the prison of the mindless Demiurge. The Serpent-Thief chains your spirit, pilfers your soul, strips you of memory – and then you are born once again. But no more, not for us, not any longer! _

_A select few among you have been gifted by the Monad, chosen to share in his Royalty that is Magic. It is through this Gift that I have found insight into the proto-phenomenic Liberty […] _

_(The remaining part of the transcript has been lost to time.)" _

Tom proceeded to take notes, in an attempt to interpret the ravings of the lunatic. Most of it seemed to be just a statement of the ideology of the author, but a few phrases piqued his interest. He rolled the quill in his fingers, deep in thought – what if they were literal, and not just metaphor or mistranslation…

A soft chime interrupted Tom's thoughts, making him look at his watch: he was already late. Tom flicked his wand in annoyance, making the things on the desk float to their respectable places: books to their shelves, notes into his bag.

Before he left however, he reached into his bag again, and took out a wooden container. Tom opened this casket, which revealed three small, deep purple crystals laying inside. He carefully levitated one of them into a velvet pouch, and put away the box.

* * *

Two Slytherins were waiting for him by the castle's entrance. The first one was the pureblood Corban Yaxley, who was leaning on the stone wall, his arms crossed on his chest. It looked as if he was a little peeved by the presence of the second student: Severus Snape, who in contrast couldn't keep still, pacing back and forth.

"Good morning," said Tom, and they greeted him in return. "Let's go."

They followed him out of the castle into the sunny outdoors - the conditions for the first Hogsmeade weekend seemed to be perfect. The path to the village lead them right by the Lake, which dazzled with the reflected sunrays. A few students forwent the trip to the town altogether, and were simply laying by the water.

"I really should get out here more often," said Snape. "Do you ever keep telling yourself that you'll do it tomorrow, and by the time you get around to do it, it's already winter?"

"I'd ask you if this is really how you live your life," replied Yaxley with a grimace on his face. "But if it's true, I think I might kill myself."

"What Corban is saying," Tom mollified, "Is that there are more things to life than your cauldron. But for now, do you have the list?"

"Yes, I've written here all the required ingredients," Snape passed him a piece of parchment. "Where do you think I should brew all this?"

"Wherever Slughorn assigned you your spot. You really don't have to hide, it would just make people suspicious - just say you're preparing for your O.W.L.s."

"What do you mean 'assigned me my spot'?" Snape was confused.

"Even I know this," Yaxley cut in. "If you really are a hopeless bookworm, you can ask him for a place where you can brew your disgusting mixtures, without stinking up the whole castle."

"Are you meaning to say that you've been using random classrooms for years?" Snape flushed red at Tom's question. "The janitor must have been ecstatic, but please, go see Slughorn once he's back from Hogsmeade. He doesn't care what you brew, whether it be Amortentia, or some hallucinogenic mushroom extract - he just laughs and tells you an anecdote from his youth."

The conversation made the hike pass by, and the Hogsmeade village came into view, bustling with students. They were walking on the streets in small groups, going from shop to shop, and making quite the racket.

From one of these shops came out Ron Weasley, his hands filled with paper bags, full of various joke items and other weird things. His mother prevented him from going on a spree like this during the holidays, but now that he was finally free of her, he indulged himself with his lottery winnings.

"Look at him," Yaxley's favorite emotion for the day was apparently disgust. "What an embarrassment to all purebloods. Tell me, how is it that Wizard blood produced this?"

"He's an imbecile," joined in Snape. "All Weasleys are, his twin brothers were even worse, wouldn't leave me alone. They dropped out to start a joke shop or something. Laughable."

"Oh yes, I've heard that they can't even find a spot on Diagon."

"So where are we meeting him, Corban?" Tom interrupted their gossip, and Yaxley looked at him with a questioning look on his face. "Hello? Do you remember why we're here in the first place?"

"Oh, right, I thought you meant Weasley for a second," replied Yaxley. "We're meeting _him_ at Hog's Head."

"We can't talk in there, too suspicious. Get _him_ out here."

"Alright, I just hope the bum didn't get himself drunk by now."

Corban went into the pub, which was advertised by an actual decapitated head of a hog above the entrance. All the flesh from it was long gone, leaving just a pale white skull with enormous tusks. The decoration had only one goal: dissuading students from entering inside, which made it a nice and quiet place for the locals.

After a moment Yaxley came out, with a scruffy looking Wizard behind him – Mundungus Fletcher. The man was wearing an old brown robe, more suited in style to a hobo than a Wizard. His face was unshaven, with rough features, and his head was bald.

"G'day, boys," Mundungus's mouth split into a grin, showing his yellowed teeth. "I heard you've got some business for me."

"Follow me, Mr. Fletcher," said Tom. "Let me show you something."

Tom lead them through a back alley, careful to avoid the students, and out of the village, to the surrounding woods. It was a far different place from the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts, quite mundane in comparison, and being on the opposite side of the Lake - unconnected.

Still, it had a certain eerie quality to it. They followed the woodland path at first, but then left it completely, and walked through the wilderness. They didn't get far from the village however, as Tom kept doubling back, searching for something.

"What are ya lookin' for?" asked Mundungus.

"Found it," replied Tom, pointing to an old stone well, the very same one that he tempered with earlier this week, but from down below. "Before Old Hogsmeade burned down, here was its center. Now all that is left is this dried up well, and the Shrieking Shack. However, how that place escaped both the fire and the passage of time, I don't know."

Mundungus spat on the ground, trying to ward off bad spirits.

"Mr. Fletcher, well all know you've been caught selling items which bore a certain family crest," Mundungus mumbled something in response. "But, that's all in the past – we don't want you in trouble. I think we could help each other out instead. You see, certain school rules are making life hard for us."

"Ahh, I knew the feelin' myself," smiled Mundungus. "I'm sure we can work somethin' out."

"We can't get some ingredients into Hogwarts, others we can, but not in the quantities we need – this is where you come in. We'll give you a list, and the coin, all you need to do is buy them and put them" – Tom pulled on the rope - " in this bucket. Every Saturday you'll check the well on midnight, there might be something waiting for you. Try not to be seen."

"So, this sucker goes all the way to Hogwarts," Mundungus's jaw dropped. "Damn. Does Dumbledore know?"

"Of course he doesn't know, nobody knows. Use the alchemical shop opposite of Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn, got it? As I said, drop it off only Saturday midnight. Oh, and if something goes missing – we'll know. You'll get paid on each delivery," Tom handed him the list and a coin pouch.

"I won't even ask what you need this for, boys," said Mundungus as he looked the parchment over.

"Nothing sinister, quite the opposite in fact. People want to be clever, beautiful, strong, confident, they want to have a good time, they don't want to feel pain – we can fulfill all those wishes, Mr. Fletcher. These are things perfectly legal outside Hogwarts, but for some reason Professor Dumbledore doesn't want them in his school. But, we're going to give the students what they want."

"And make a good heap of coin in the process," Mundungus laughed, and extended his hand. "Shake on it, boys?"

* * *

Fletcher lumbered back to Hogsmeade, leaving them by the well. Tom rested his hands on the stone, and peered into the depths. He has been here before, weeks ago, to transfigure the crank mechanism, as the original was long gone. Tom made it look old and corroded, and hoped that this would be enough – only a madman would follow a man like Mundungus into the woods anyway. Rest of the time, the well would be empty.

"Snape," Tom shook off his doubts and begun speaking. "Make one batch of everything for now. Yaxley will take care of selling it, and he'll also be the one telling you how much he needs. This is the start of your career, the beginning of what you've always wanted - do not fail.

"Yaxley, don't get caught. Just because I made you a fancy bag with a hidden compartment, doesn't mean that you can walk around like some mobile pharmacy. Stash what you don't need in the Room. Be smart.

"If any of you has a problem: come to me. With me, you will go far, you will learn things that will last you a lifetime. Also, as Mundungus said, make a good heap of coin in the process."

* * *

The Three Broomsticks was the most frequented destination in all of Hogsmeade. While none would question the fame of the magical shops like Zonko's or Honeydukes, Three Broomsticks was the only place that served Butterbeer. In spite of its low alcoholic content, the drink did serve for the Hogwarts students as a sort of an initiation into a more adult world.

Today the place was full of rowdy students, both inside and outside the pub, where wooden tables were laid out to accommodate their volume. Tom Riddle made his way through the crowd, trying to spot the second person that he would be meeting with today. At last he saw him: sitting by one of the tables in the back, and waving to him, was Harry Potter.

"Why did you pick this place," Tom complained as he sat down. "It's so loud, and you know I hate Butterbeer."

"Don't worry," replied Harry. "I ordered us tea. And nobody will overhear us over this shouting."

"Let me do something about it," Tom slashed his wand through the air, silencing the noise that reached them to a more manageable level. "Better."

"Seventh year, eh? Hell, I'm gonna miss this place. The castle, the forest, the lake, and even this noisy pub."

"You can still visit Hogsmeade though," pointed out Tom.

"It won't be the same - it's already losing some of the magic for me. Remember when you first got here, how incredible it all seemed? Now, it's just a boring little village, worse, a 'student trap', full of cheap thrills."

"I thought that from the start," chuckled Tom. "But now, I think I'm going to miss it a little too."

A tray floated towards them, on which sat a teapot and two cups, along with some sugar. Madam Rosmerta couldn't have hoped to serve everybody at once, and this is how some of the orders were now delivered.

"Maybe I should have ordered us Firewhiskey," joked Harry. "So, you said that you didn't want to be an Unspeakable – what will you do instead?"

"I was thinking about taking up teaching," Harry gave Tom an incredulous look. "I'm serious. Nearly nobody knows this yet, but Professor Merrythought is retiring. I don't know if Dumbledore will agree to me taking her place, though."

"Really? Well, he'd be a fool to reject you. There's nobody better with a wand, I bet you're going to get all 'Outstandings' on your N.E.W.T.s."

"You know that he doesn't like me, plus, he might think that I'm too young."

"So you'll go on a sabbatical for a few years, and I bet Dumbledore will come around. I could use one myself, but it's straight to the Aurors for me," they sipped their tea in silence for a moment. "Now, you said that you were going to tell me about your internship?"

"Don't worry, I will. However, I wasn't joking earlier - it's treason to disclose the secrets of the Unspeakables. I can only get away with it because I never became a full member."

"Yes, yes, nobody will know that we spoke, I know that it's serious. Just start already, the anticipation is killing me."

Tom smiled, and begun. "What do you know about the soul?"

* * *

"The soul?" Harry considered the answer for a moment. "I guess it's something eternal, something that moves on after the body dies. I have no idea beyond that."

"You're thinking of the Spirit, not the soul. Did you forget that a soul can be sucked out by a Dementor, destroyed? It can be changed with magic, or even by mundane actions," Tom took out a velvet pouch from his pocket and began turning it over in his hands. "It is the Spirit which is eternal, uncreated, everlasting… if you believe in such a thing."

"The Spirit?" Harry furrowed his brow. "I thought that was just another word for a ghost. What is it?"

"That, no one can tell you. Even the existence of the Spirit has to be taken on faith, by definition it cannot be interacted with from this material world - it is not a part of it, but something completely different. Its nature is not only unprovable, but also wholly incommunicable," Tom took a sip of his tea. "It is a matter for theology, but it would make things neater I guess: three parts to a person, assurance of an afterlife and so on. It's not what I studied with the Unspeakables, though."

"You studied the soul? And, what's in that pouch you're holding? You keep playing with it."

"It's a souvenir from my internship. Take out your hand, let me show you," Tom slid out a deep purple crystal out of the pouch. It was hexagonal in cross section, pointed near one end, but seemed to be have been broken off from a larger cluster.

"What is it?" Harry was holding it between his fingers, staring deep into it, transfixed. He felt as if there was more to it, just hiding beneath the surface.

"You know ghosts, but this is something even weirder: a crystallized part of a soul, made as a result of an unfortunate accident. One of a kind. Unexplained."

"That's creepy," Harry quickly put the crystal on the table. "You stole a part of somebody's soul?"

"All creatures have souls, not just humans, without them they would be inanimate bags of flesh and bones. What I took was a part of a larger crystal formation, of unknown origin. It's not sentient, I don't even know if it's human - think of it as a sort of energy," Tom pushed the crystal back into the pouch with his wand. "Do you feel any different?"

"Yes… I do feel energized, like I had too much coffee. It's not dangerous, I hope?"

"It radiates this energy, but if you held it for too long, it might start pulling on your own soul."

"And you just let me hold it like it was nothing?" Harry covered his face with his palm. "Each time I think you're a normal, moral human being, you pull something like that."

"You'll be fine, you'd have to hold it for hours for anything to happen. Besides, didn't you just tell me that you feel better?"

"Alright, I'll let it slide," chuckled Harry. "So the soul is just energy?"

"No, what you held can't even be called a soul. The real thing is much more complex than that," Tom refilled their cups from the teapot. "The human soul is composed of three parts: first one of them is the Identity, the Self. It is a set of rules defining who you are, what you think you are, your personality and so on. But it would be dead and unchanging without the second part: the Animus. The Animus gives life to the Self, lets it change through time and interact with the world. It holds the will, the power to instill change - it's raw, pure energy."

"So, the crystal was Animus? Weird, that something that is supposed to be the change itself, has a solid form."

"Yes, it is a certain perversion of the natural order," Tom hid the pouch back in his pocket. "So, we have the Identity, then the Animus, and finally: Memory. It accumulates in the soul like water, sometimes remaining in the depths, sometimes overwhelming the consciousness like a torrential downpour.

"Ghosts are nearly pure memory, they can't change like a real person, and have an atrophied Identity. The crystal I showed you is the exact opposite: no Memory, no Identity, just pure Animus. Perhaps, that is why it's so static - there's nothing to direct it. Either way, I wouldn't want to be there when it shatters. "

"Huh, I guess walking through a ghost always felt sort of cold and wet. Also, now I know why the Obliviators are a section of the Unspeakables, and here I thought it was just to protect their own secrets." Silence descended over the table as Harry was thinking it over. "Which part of the soul is the consciousness?"

"None of them individually, it arises through the interplay of all three parts. Or, it maybe even comes from the Spirit? Anyway, it is the soul's most elusive aspect, or rather, it is the process which the soul serves to maintain. Just like the body maintains life, in spite of the fact that it does not contain a single molecule of life."

"Okay, all of this is getting way out there for me. What did you actually do there, other than break off pieces of this creepy soul-crystal?"

"They didn't let me do much. At first, they just gave me a lot of reading, and then I had to explain it in my own words to them. Once they were satisfied, they had me do a bunch of really boring experiments, and take notes. Pages and pages of arithmetic, made on thousands of data points. The crystal was probably the most interesting part of the whole Department, at least of what they showed to me."

"You learned quite a bit of esoteric stuff from them, though. How did the Unspeakables just let you get out of there with all of it? Why didn't they obliviate you, or something?"

"They don't know that I won't be coming back yet," Tom hid his smile behind his cup.

"Okay, aren't you worried? What are you going to do once they find out?"

"I'll try to settle it through Dumbledore, he is the Chief Warlock after all. I know he hates me ever since last year, but it's at least worth a try."

"He doesn't hate you, he just thinks you could have done more for Myrtle, hell, we all could have done more for her – it wasn't your fault that she died."

"Oh well, I guess we managed to get quite far without you mentioning her suicide. I think this is a new record," Tom finished the last of his tea, and stood up.

"Hey, I'm sorry, don't leave - I won't mention it again."

"No, it's not about that, really. It's just that your friends are waiting for you," Tom pointed to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin standing in the distance. "And mine are waiting for me. We had a good talk."

"Before you go, let me ask you one more thing: why did you tell me all this? You are so secretive usually."

"Well, let's put it this way: you're a Gryffindor. Your moral compass is just too strong to be seduced by some vague promise of power. I feel like if I told this to a wrong Slytherin, they would try to start their own necromantic practice, or something equally stupid," Tom adjusted his robes. "And for some reason, I do feel a need to tell this to someone. Maybe just to spite the Unspeakables… well, see you later. Thanks for the tea."

* * *

The sun had already set over Hogsmeade, and the students have long returned to their dormitories. However, Tom Riddle was still technically outside of the castle, sitting in the cave under the old well. He had transfigured himself a chair, as well as a heavy wooden table, on which laid a variety of metal parts, as if from some oversized watch.

He had been in the cave for a couple hours now, working on some sort of an instrument. The metal parts came from a magical gismo, a Foe-Glass that he bought earlier today. He tinkered with it, until all that remained was an empty gyroscope: a sphere made out of rotating metal rings. Tom spun it a few times, and then put it back on the table, satisfied.

Then, he took out the velvet pouch from his pocket, and levitated the soul crystal out. The gem looked different now, it was still the same deep purple, but now covered in red fingerprints, and tiny veins which run towards its center. Even though Harry's soul remained intact, it had left a mark behind.

Tom picked up a magnifying glass, and stared into the crystal. The Animus inside stirred, raw energy, yet powerless and incomplete without the remaining components of a soul. What interested Tom the most was the imprint left on the crystal - unique and unmistakable.

He carefully levitated both the gem and the metal gyroscope into the air. The metal rings aligned themselves, and with a tap from his wand, the stone slid right into the middle of them. Then, the contraption slowly started spinning, pushed into motion by the energy of the crystal. It seemed as if it wanted to align itself with something.

Tom gently levitated it onto the top of his hand, and started casting spells over the device. He paused after a moment, and then begun pouring magical energy into it, staring deep into the gem. Slowly, a scene assembled itself from the red markings. It was blurry and distant, so he poured even more energy into the gem.

_He felt his hands, resting on the arms of a comfortable rocking chair. He felt his feet, warmed by the fire. Next to him sat Frank Longbottom, the rest of the familiar Gryffindor common room empty. He was content, relaxed after a long day. Then, he felt a sudden chill. _

"_I feel like somebody's watching me," he said. _

Tom violently pulled himself out of the vision, his hands shaking. For a moment, he was in two places at once: in a cold cave, staring into a vibrating crystal, but also staring into the fire, through Harry's eyes. His theory was a success! The crystal seemed to be a little worse for wear, cracked, but who else could ever hope to attempt remote viewing like this? Tom was ecstatic.

* * *

As the clock struck twelve, Mundungus finished the last of his beer, and left the Hogs Head. He had a big sack with him, which he typically used for storing pilfered valuables, but today it was full of carefully packed ingredients.

He made his way into the forest, and it didn't take him long until he found the well - his navigational skills were something that he was always proud of. Mundungus grew up in the country, spending his youth breathing in the clean air of Northern England, and only moved to London after dropping out of Hogwarts.

The lone well in the middle of an overgrown wood was an eerie sight, but Fletcher slapped himself on the face, and approached. When he started pulling on the rope, he thought he heard something weird from down below, as if a laugh. He stopped to listen, but after a moment of silence he shrugged, and continued his task.


	7. The Morning Star, Bringer of Light

As September passed into October, the days grew shorter, the temperature dropped, and each morning the Hogwarts grounds were now covered with frost. However, the mostly pine Forest was still as green as ever, with the few deciduous trees still hanging on to their leaves.

Professor Sprout decided make use of those last weeks before winter, and took the seventh-years on a brief trip into the Forest. It was a welcome change, and finally an opportunity to use their knowledge in the field, outside of the sterile and controlled greenhouses.

She lead them onto an expansive clearing, hidden away deep in the Forest. It was lush with the many wild flowers: velvet wolfsbane, clusters of nightshade, giant hogwed, white hemlock, and others. It seemed as though the place was still locked in the middle of the summer.

"Your task is simple: find and categorize as many different species of plants and fungi as you can. Don't bring me dandelions, I want things that have some magical use! And don't wander too far away, please."

As the students spread out into the clearing, quills in hand, Sprout set herself up a recliner and took out a book to read. After a month filled with grueling work from all subjects, the seventh-years were relived: finally something lighter.

However, not all students were taking this opportunity to relax. Lucius Malfoy and Ron Weasley detached themselves from the group, and stepped into the tree-shade.

"What is it, Malfoy?" it was apparent that Weasley was nervous.

"You know exactly what this is about. Have you been avoiding me?"

September barely ended, and surprising even Malfoy, Ron Weasley had already run out of his lottery winnings. Most of it he spent in shops, amassing an impressive collection of wizarding junk, which he had to buy a second trunk to store.

He hasn't wasted all of it though: he replaced his clothes, and other necessities, and even bought people quite thoughtful gifts. But once he run out, he did something stupid - gambled with Malfoy on credit. Luck wasn't on his side that day, or perhaps the game was rigged from the start.

"Oh right, I do remember owing you a few Galleons," Ron scratched his head. "Why are you sweating me over it? I thought you were loaded, mate."

"You and I both know it isn't just 'a few'. Do you have it, or not?"

"Not right now, " – Lucius pushed him against a tree – "hey, hold on, I'll get it!"

"I hope so, for your own good. Your family is known for a few things already, Weasley, should we add 'debtors' to the list?"

"I said I'll get it back to you, get off me," Weasley drew his wand.

"What is going on over here?" it was Tom who interrupted them.

"Nothing," said Lucius, hiding his own wand. "Just a friendly conversation." He then quickly rejoined the rest of the class, and Ron wanted to do the same, but Tom grabbed him by the shoulder.

"What is going on?" Tom had a concerned look on his face.

"Nothing, it's nothing."

"The only time I've seen you two talking before was at the cards table – do you owe money to him?" Ron begun shaking his head. "C'mon, you can tell me."

"Alright, I did borrow some Galleons from him."

"What did you do that for?" asked Tom.

"I thought I could win twice as much, but it all went to shit. One bad hand after another, and when I finally got something, and went all in - he beats my kings with his jacks! Can you believe it?"

"How much do you owe?"

"Fifty," Ron swallowed. "Galleons."

"Well, that is a quite a bit… how about this, I'll pay it back for you," when Ron started protesting, Tom cut him off. "You'll still have to pay me back, don't worry. Who would you rather owe, me or Malfoy?"

"Wow, thanks mate," Ron couldn't believe his luck. "Other Slytherins are such gits, but you always were alright."

"I grew up with Harry, I guess."

"You know what," Ron begun taking off his watch. "I got this on my seventeenth birthday from my dad – it's old, and it must be worth something, right?"

"I couldn't take a family heirloom-"

"Take it! I don't want it, believe me. It's awful, never fit me right. I've just been wearing so my dad stops bugging me - I already bought myself a new one a couple weeks ago anyway, just haven't put it on yet."

Tom took the giant watch, feigning reluctance. It looked like a quite complex astronomical apparatus, with hands pointing to various planets, stars and constellations. However, the function of measuring time seemed to be added on only as an afterthought.

"Your brother works for Gringotts, right?" asked Tom as they were walking back to the group.

"Yeah, Bill, he's a curse-breaker."

"Does he know what's going on with the goblins?"

"I don't know, " shrugged Ron. "I haven't seen him in a while. I could write him, if you want."

"That would be great. I'll have that watch appraised, I know a guy," Tom said as he pocketed it. "You see, everything works out in the end."

* * *

Tom has been restless all afternoon, unable to concentrate on anything, and so he just walked from place to place. A week ago, he had written to Dumbledore to request a meeting, and it was scheduled to take place later in the afternoon.

He still had plenty of time until that though, so he'd thought to check up how Snape was doing with his "potions project". So far, it has been going exceptionally well – the students were always trying to smuggle in various potions into Hogwarts, but using the post always risked detention.

With Yaxley (helped by several underclassmen) selling them directly, that was no longer an issue. Corban was always present at all the parties, he visited various clubs and study groups, always being in the right place at te right time.

Light stimulants seemed to be the most popular among Snape's creations, guaranteeing a clear head and energy all day, eradicating any hungover. For those who didn't party as much, memory and concentration elixirs were a hit. Interestingly, the Hippie phenomenon never really took root in Hogwarts, so the only drugs the students indulged in were alcohol and tobacco. Naturally, Mundungus delivered those as well.

Snape was set up in an disused laboratory, in the same corridor as the potions classroom. That whole area of the castle had an impressive collection of glassware, preserved magical specimen, brass distillation tanks and other potion-making apparatus accumulated by the past generations.

In one hand he held a notebook, and with the other he was looking through his collection of ingredients, preparing to begin his next brew. On the table next to him there were already four different colored potions, simmering in their cauldrons.

"How's it going?" Tom greeted him.

"Tom!" Snape was pleased to see him. "It's going great, I'm trying a few new things, expanding my selection. I can't keep brewing the exact same tonics forever."

"Well, until you become financially independent, you will have to put up with it for a while longer. Isn't this what you always wanted to do?"

"Yes, I am very grateful. It's fun, I like how what I make has some use, you know?"

"Good - your talents are finally becoming appreciated."

"Not by other Slytherins though," Snape added under his breath.

"What do you mean? They use your potions just like any other house."

"I'm still just a Halfblood to them," he said, ashamed. "You know they will never respect me."

"With time they will respect you. Go to the Room more often, and stop worrying to much," Snape still wasn't convinced, and Tom became annoyed. "You know what, perhaps you don't take yourself seriously."

"I do take myself seriously-"

"You want respect? Nobody will give it to you: you have to take it. I gave you this opportunity, your own potions practice: do something with it. Quit feeling sorry for yourself."

After saying those words, Tom left the room, leaving Snape slightly shocked. His mouth remained open, rest of his body likewise frozen, but after a moment returned to the present, and resumed his task.

* * *

Tom looked at his watch: still an hour left. This time, he decided to go all the way up to the seventh floor, to the Room of Requirement. In contrast to its previous appearance, now the interior looked like an almost exact copy of the Slytherin common room.

Plush chairs were arranged in front of a roaring fireplace, accommodating Lucius Malfoy, Lestrange, Rosier and the few other Slytherins. Why didn't they just use their actual common room, and opted to climb nearly ten floors instead, was anybody's guess – apparently it was the thing to do now.

"Hey, Tom!" greeted him Lucius. "I was just saying how Weasley nearly pissed his pants. No spine whatsoever on that guy."

"You did do a pretty good job, Lucius, he suspects nothing." Tom took out Ron's watch out of his pocket. "Look what that idiot gave me: a family heirloom."

"Damn, can I have a look?" asked Malfoy. "It's probably the most expensive thing they own, looks worth at least a hundred Galleons."

Tom sat down in one of the chairs, and waited until the watch was returned to him.

"What the hell," said Rosier, from behind of a newspaper that he was currently reading. "Remember Chocolate Frog Cards? Apparently they want to make a card about some Muggle. _'Elvis Presley, arguably the most famous singer and songwriter of all time, hailed as 'The King of Rock and Roll'…'_\- what does this Muggle nonsense even mean?"

"Grindewald was right," replied Lucius. "The world really is going to the dogs - if we don't want to rule the Muggles, the Muggles are going to rule us. They start by poisoning the children with this nonsense."

"Never heard of this 'Elvis'," added Lestrange. "Why don't they add Bach or Mozart first? You know, some actually great composers, from back when the Muggle world actually stood for something?"

"Of course they won't add Bach, they want to infect us with their depravity, and call it 'progress'. I think I've heard their 'music' over the wireless once, it was despicable, no art at all, just primitive and plebian," ranted Malfoy.

"I've heard that they put urinals in their museums," said Lestrange. "Muggle art used to take skill, and dedication – now it's just smears of paint, trash and shock value."

"It's the collapse of their society," agreed Lucius. "Decadence, fall of traditional values, just like it happened in Rome. Their 'free love' only spreads disease, erodes their families. Then, they poison themselves with drugs, and go insane. What do they believe in? Absolutely nothing: no higher power, just their hollow matter - and even that, they think to be just an illusion. Another, even more destructive world war is inevitable."

"What else did they write about, Rosier?" Tom asked, to change the topic.

"Hmm, goblins are still camping in front of Gringotts, oh, here's something new: _'Leprechaun implicated in a murder of a Wizard.'_"

"Holy hell, anybody we know?" asked Lestrange, but Rosier shook his head.

"Prophet says that happened in Ireland," he continued. "Leprechauns aren't native to England. _'Multiple witnesses claim that the Wizard was lured into the forest by the promise of treasure. His body was later found dismembered, covered in the fake Leprechaun gold.'_"

"And to think," said Lucius with disgust, "that some want to treat them as our equals. 'Human intelligence'? They're just magical animals, plain and simple. Yeah, let's give them wands - I'm sure nothing will go wrong!"

"Why do they all think we should give them wands," said Lestrange. "It is a Wizard invention, they can have it only if they're capable of making their own – this should be the real test for their 'human intelligence'."

"There's nothing else in the Prophet, just a bunch of gossip," Rosier yawned.

Tom drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I think I'll leave you boys, I have my audience with the Headmaster today," he said after a moment, and got up.

"Good luck," wished him Lucius, others echoing him.

* * *

Tom was now walking in circles on the second floor corridor, anxious before the meeting. Finally, the clock chimed, signaling that it was seven in the afternoon. He walked over to the Gargoyle, stretched, and closed his eyes for a brief moment to gather his thoughts.

"Smarties," he spoke the password, trying not to dwell on its infantility.

In response, the Gargoyle begun spinning, revealing a spiral staircase that went straight into Dumbledore's office. When Tom arrived at the top, his mind flashed back to the previous year, prompted by the familiar surroundings. Dead Headmasters of old silently slept in their portraits, various books and instruments lined the walls, and also there was Dumbledore himself, sitting behind a large desk at the end of the room.

"Tom, welcome, what can I do for you today?" he said, good-naturedly. "Take a seat."

"Good evening, Professor," replied Tom and sat down. "I did send you a letter, explaining my predicament?"

"Ah, yes, something about the Unspeakables - I'm afraid you'll have to refresh my memory," Dumbledore said, while scratching his beard. "I'm starting to get old, I'm afraid."

"Of course, Professor. Over the summer I went on an internship to the Department of Mysteries, but unfortunately, I didn't find it to be something that I'd want to do. I was hoping, Professor, that in your capacity as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you could help me with the process of abandoning this career path."

"You interned at the Department of Mysteries? A very intriguing place indeed. Indulge my curiosity, what did you find so disagreeable about it?"

"If I may be honest, Sir, I don't think the Unspeakables understand magic at all. They are like curious children, poking things with a stick, seeing what happens. They don't actually want to change anything, they have no greater purpose other than seeing if they can do it. Magic is all about enacting change with the accordance to your own will, shaping the world for the better."

"Wise words," said Dumbledore as he cleaned his spectacles. "But, didn't you already know that?"

"I don't know what you mean, Professor."

"What I mean is, perhaps this is the very thing that attracted you there in the first place. The Unspeakables are quite separated from the outside world, they dedicate their entire lives to the tireless pursuit of knowledge - all they want to do is to find the truth. In theory at least, in reality they are of course just a department of our old Ministry."

"I just didn't think it through I guess," said Tom, already slightly annoyed by the questioning. "My interest must have gotten the better of me."

"Tom, I doubt there is anything you don't think through, my boy. I hope I'm not being too presumptuous, but allow me to speculate for a moment: perhaps it wasn't your interest that you wanted to satisfy. I think, it was your conscience," Dumbledore stared at him over his new crescent spectacles. "I think that joining the Unspeakables was meant as an act of penance."

"Penance?" Tom said, perhaps a little more forcefully than he intended. "My conscience does not accuse me of anything, Dumbledore."

"Not even of what happened last year, to that bright sixth-year Ravenclaw witch, Myrtle? From what Harry had told me, you two were closer than what anyone had suspected. However, you certainly didn't stop your friends when they called her, forgive my language, 'Mudblood'? When they bullied her, sadly not just stopping at plain rudeness?"

"I am not their master, nor am I responsible for every student," under the table, Tom clenched his fists. "Blame their parents, blame the staff – blame yourself. The Slytherins are a product of their times, their upbringing."

Tom closed his eyes, and continued only after calming himself. "Also, notice how many face much worse than Myrtle, and they don't end their life. I couldn't do anything for her even if I tired. However, perhaps I can do something for my fellow Slytherins, and all those who have the necessary will."

"What is it that you actually do for other Slytherins? Bad rumors always circle around those you call your 'friends'." Dumbledore shook his head.

"These rumors are always started by the envious, those frightened of power. You know that they have no real understanding of what is going on. I simply help Slytherins, and others, in becoming all that they can be - and they can become great."

"And what is it that you see in them, Tom?"

"What I see in them?" Fresh energy found its way into Tom's voice. "Every magician is like a star, full of nearly limitless potential. Drifting through an empty, cold void, they are the only source of light, the only thing of value. It is not anyone's place to impose rules or limitations on something so sovereign, so independent. Each individual is the center of their own world – all they need to do is to discover, and follow, their true will. This is how they can fully become one with their star, fulfilling their potential."

"So what you say is: _'your real self lies not deep within you, but high above you'_. There is some beauty in your words," Dumbledore stared at him for a moment in silence. "You do remind me of how I felt in my own youth. Just don't forget, that there are things even higher, more important, than personal success and power. I know it is not as glamorous, not as highbrow – but don't forget about love."

"Love? Bah, romantic love is actually far less than what people make it out to be," said Tom with a sarcastic smile on his face. "You idolize another person, build them up to a ridiculous degree, forget all their flaws – and to what end?

"Self gratification. They become the most important person in the world, and nobody else, only you, needs to have them. Only if you possess them, you become happy, justified and fulfilled. After all, you were chosen by the singular greatest, most important person in the world. The greater your devotion, the greater the boost to your own ego. What a grand, and intoxicating narcissism! Go ahead, pat yourself on the back for your noble act of 'love', but I can see through it clearly."

Dumbledore broke out into a laugh. "Oh, Tom, I do hope that one day you will realize how wrong you were about all this, and please do forgive my laughter. Perhaps, the most primitive form of Eros is like you describe, but your knowledge of the more sophisticated, purer, selfless forms of love, is still far undeveloped."

"Perhaps not as much as you might think. The way I see it, love is a union: and is there any greater union, than the one between the individual and their star? Any action that leads there, is the highest form of love. In this way, any negative emotion can almost be like love, if it leads to improvement." Tom leaned back in his chair, and continued:

"This tireless climb, extraordinary effort, is the purpose of the whole Universe! Five billions of years ago, the Sun pulled itself together from chaotic debris, and begun warming our Earth. A billion years passed, and the first bacteria arised out of the primordial soup – life begun its climb to man. Now, we are in the final stages of evolution, but this shall not longer be an evolution of matter, but one of the Spirit. The world shall soon experience the final act of love."

"And what shall this final act be?" Dumbledore asked, a concerned expression briefly flashing through his face.

"That still escapes me, but I can feel it's just around the corner, agonizingly close. With my will, I shall reach this heaven, even if it is by violence. Perhaps others will follow." Optimistic energy was now gone from Tom's voice, replaced by something more reserved. "However, let's get back to the reason behind out meeting – will you help me with leaving the Unspeakables, Professor?"

"Tom, who am I to stand between you and your dream?" sighed the Headmaster. "Who knows, maybe you will surprise even me, and change the world for the better. As Goethe wrote, there exist forces which even despite not having the purest of intentions, still can bring goodness. Our Head Boy, Harry, certainly seems to believe in you. I'll write to one of my dear friends in the Department, and he will send over a few legal documents for you to sign."

"And that will be it? Not even a court hearing?" Tom blinked, surprised.

"Not even a court hearing. You shouldn't act so surprised, being an intern doesn't mean signing your whole life away. They were careful with that they shared with you, at least they were supposed to hide anything that could put Britain at risk. You just need to sign a few things, and they will leave you alone." Dumbledore looked tired. "Now, I must thank you for this most stimulating talk, Tom. I wish you the best of luck in finding your own path in life, and good night."

* * *

Tom didn't go straight to the Slytherin dormitory after leaving Dumbledore's office. Instead, he went to the dungeons, to once again delve into the oldest parts of the castle. Places such as the underground aqueduct were never meant to be a complete secret, but over time became forgotten, only mention of their existence in old maintenance manuals and such.

Even before Tom ever set foot in Hogwarts, way back when he was first learning about the Wizarding World from Mr. Potter, he wanted to find his birthright: the Chamber of Secrets. Contemporary Wizards considered the place to be nothing more than a fairytale, and the search for it a foolish errand.

Nevertheless, for over six years, Tom has been consistently looking for it. There was something naïve to his pursuit, how despite finding no real hint of any such place, he persisted in this childhood fantasy. When in doubt, he would excuse the search as being beneficial in itself, how it he'd found many things over the years: the Room of Requirement, the aqueduct, abandoned research chambers, hidden passageways and bizarre magical enchantments.

However, all the while he was collecting the pieces to his puzzle, and creating a map of the castle. It was an enchanted ink sketch, spelled to show the peculiar layout of Hogwarts, which warped and stretched due to its various enchantments. Over time, Tom developed methods for dealing with such unruly space, and finding hidden areas.

Right now, he was walking right next to the very foundations of Hogwarts: a cramped and dark space, filled with thick columns and imposing arches. The castle's weight was held up by solid stone, undoubtedly shaped by magical means to withstand even an earthquake. It was only by the end of last year that Tom gained access to this location, the final place to look for answers.

Why he put off finishing his search until after his meeting with Dumbledore, was hard to say. Perhaps, even he was on some level fearful of his destiny, and just needed the right push. Tom was convinced that he would soon find what he was looking for.

* * *

He had been investigating this place for hours now, measuring and casting spells with his wand, trying to find any hint of unmapped, or even unmappable, space. The more he looked at his notes, the more it became clear: there was no hidden Chamber. From the foundations to the tallest towers, all the space had been accounted for, measured, marked with black ink on his parchment.

He sat down, in despair, his last hope of finding the Chamber shattered. Then, he became filled with anger – why had he ever indulged in this childish dream? Impulsively, he set fire to the map that he painstakingly created, and threw it onto the ground. There was no entrance to the Chamber of Secrets anywhere in the castle… no entrance anywhere in the castle…. Wait.

As he kept looking into the flames, and idea begun forming in his head. Inspiration filled Tom, somehow making him feel lightheaded – what if, the entrance to the Chamber was outside of the castle?

* * *

(AN) Just to clarify: there is no Legilimency in this AU, no way to read somebody's thoughts just by looking them in the eyes. And, there are no unbreakable vows, swearing on your magic, and similar. I just don't like these concepts from a storytelling perspective.


	8. The October Crisis of 1962

When Tom Riddle woke up in the morning of October 23nd, it was still dark, and he could barely see anything through his puffy eyes. After taking a quick shower and dressing in his Hogwarts robes, he looked out through the window, onto the Black Lake below. The surface of water was reflecting the grey sky above, and the morning mist was covering the Forbidden Forest from view.

Despite never being particularly hungry in the morning, Tom made his way up to the Great Hall as usual, where the warm light of the torches illuminated the long dining tables. He found it too bright at this hour, and squinted his eyes, letting memory guide his legs to the Slytherin table. Others were similarly only half awake, and greeted him with little energy, focusing on their breakfast.

Tom was drinking a glass of orange juice, thinking about how Muggles would have to wait until summer to enjoy this beverage, when the morning post came. He never liked this part of the day, as he had mostly bad memories about owls, and treated them as bad omens. When one of the birds dropped a letter in front of him, he immediately recognized the envelope.

It violently pulled him out of his morning daze, and with a sudden burst of energy, he quickly snatched the letter and tore it open. The discarded envelope bore a characteristic many-pointed star, the crest of the Unspeakables. Tom scanned the legal jargon, until he found what he was looking for at the end of the letter:

"_Therefore, we inform you, that your relationship with the Department of Mysteries has officially been terminated, hereby lifting all the privileges and responsibilities associated with the 'Junior Intern' position, effective immediately." _

Relief flooded him, a heavy weight finally lifted from his shoulders. He read the letter over again, and it was exactly as Dumbledore said: he simply had to sign a few legal documents, and he was a free man. In spite of being absorbed with his letter, he soon became aware of hushed, concerned whispers starting all around him. He looked up, and found people reading the Prophet, with slightly disturbed looks on their faces.

"What is going on?" Tom asked.

"It's, well, the Muggles," spoke up Lestrange. "Prophet's headline: _'U.S. President Kennedy imposes a military blockade on the isle of Cuba, on finding offensive 'atom bomb' bases, U.S. ready for a clash with the Soviets.'_ It goes on: _'We remind our readers, that an 'atom bomb' is a muggle invention, capable of completely destroying an entire city, and poisoning the surrounding area for hundreds of miles. The Soviets have so far denied any claims of such weapons on the Cuban soil, while the Muggle U.S. President accuses them of deliberately making false statements on their involvement on Cuba.'_"

"Give me that," said Tom and grabbed the newspaper for himself. The front page was taken up by a photo of a Muggle television, broadcasting Kennedy's address. Below, was a moving photograph of a nuclear explosion, gigantic mushroom cloud piercing the skies.

"Another World War? It hasn't even been two decades!" exclaimed Rosier. "The Interwar periods are getting shorter, and shorter."

"Nothing's started yet," cut in Regulus. "Anyway, these _'atom bombs' _can't touch Wizards, right? You just apperate away?"

"If you have a quick enough reaction time I guess," responded Lestrange. "If you get hit by one of those in your sleep, you're toast. Ministry should put up some early warning program in place, anybody in London is a sitting duck!"

"Don't worry, Wizards can take care of themselves," assured him Lucius. "It's only the Muggles that will be… depopulated. Their civilization will crumble, and revert to the ancient, barbaric times. Then, people will finally understand Grindelwald, who simply wanted to save the Muggles from themselves."

"Grindelwald again? Stop worshiping him all the time," sighed Lestrange. "It's not only the Muggles that will suffer – have you forgotten the _'poisons the surrounding area for hundreds of miles'_ part? The whole world will be poisoned, nature will rot away, leaving only desert."

"Grindelwald was right though, can't you see that? The statute of secrecy will inevitably be abolished, be it to save Muggles from themselves, or after they're already gone. However, I'm starting to think that he was too benevolent – clearly, they are a danger not only to themselves, but all forms of life."

"They won't use their _'atom bombs'_," calmed them Tom. "They know, that when one side destroys a city, the other will retaliate in kind. Muggles are motivated by greed, not by mindless blood-thirst. In the case that they really are just rabid animals, waiting to tear out each other's throats - we will put them down."

"Nicely said," agreed Lucius. "But, can we really risk it happening? What if they turn the planet into a desert?"

"Don't you think, that there aren't Wizards already assigned to that?" said Lestrange. "If some crazy Muggles decides to drop the bombs, he will be stopped before he can do anything."

"That's one side of it," spoke up Rookwood, "benevolent control. But, what if some crazy Wizard makes a Muggle use that bomb? Also, the Imperious curse is nearly undetectable, and nobody checks Muggles for mind control. Who is to say, that some organization hasn't been quietly causing all these recent Muggle wars? Who profits from all this?"

"You don't need a conspiracy theory," said Lucius. "Muggles simply are this way. It's sad, but if they were like us, they would have received the gift of Magic. As is, they're nothing but slightly more intelligent animals."

"I don't know, I think Rookwood makes a fair point," said Lestrange. "I haven't thought about the possibility of some shadow organization, controlling the shape of the Muggle world. Somebody must keep an eye on that, otherwise with a few choice spells, we could take control of the Muggles ourselves. What do you think, Tom?"

"I can't say that I'm particularly interested in ruling Muggles. Now excuse me, someone wants to talk to me, I think," said Tom, and stood up. He walked to the end of the table, where Ron Weasley was trying to get his attention, and then they both left the Hall.

"I don't get why we should be this concerned," said Snape, continuing the discussion. "Cuba is half a world away, let the Russians and Americans battle it out."

"By Merlin's beard, stop being so ignorant," said Lestrange. "You do know that the Muggles are divided into two camps, right? Like in the last war - if two Western countries attack each other, the whole world joins in. The Prophet even says that the U.S. will retaliate if Soviets try anything like that."

"These really could be the end days," said Rookwood. "If not the apocalypse itself, at least the end of an era. Sure, Muggles have gone pretty decadent, but you can't say that the last couple centuries haven't seen some major progress in their world. I guess we're seeing the last stages of this process, how it all collapses in on itself."

"Give me a break," Lucius rolled his eyes. "Muggles have accomplished nothing, but the progressive destruction of everything around them. Last fifty years they have been killing each other on a massive scale, but they haven't stopped at just that. Have you ever been to Muggle London, especially in winter? The air gets so full of coal dust, that you can hardly see your own feet. Beggars fill the streets, half the people look either deformed or diseased, and there's trash, trash everywhere."

"Then, like in the Biblical Flood, the wicked will be wiped away from the face of the Earth," replied Rookwood. "Muggles shall be destroyed by their own devices, burned away by the atomic fires, and only the righteous will remain."

* * *

As Ron didn't want to approach the Slytherin table, he got Tom's attention from afar, and they both stepped out of the Hall to talk somewhere private.

"Those Muggies, eh?" Ron said. "They're going to bomb one another, crazy."

"You said you finally got in contact with Bill?" asked Tom, impatiently. "Do you have the letter with you?"

"Nah, I actually met with him yesterday, in Hogsmeade."

"And you didn't invite me over? Great. At least tell me that you've learned something about the goblins."

"Yeah, I have, but not much, it's all top secret Gringotts stuff. All he knows are some rumors. So, the goblins which are protesting in front of the Bank, are actually protesting against Gringotts itself."

"I think everyone gathered as much from the Prophet. They didn't exactly post a list of demands, so did you find out what they actually want?"

"From what Bill told me, it turns out that the goblins are divided into clans. Apparently, all those protesters are from a single clan, others goblins call them _'Deepdwellers'._ Even among goblins, they are considered to be weirdoes, mostly keeping to the underground – it's actually quite rare for them to be seen on the surface like that."

"I didn't know that," admitted Tom. "But get to the point: what are they so upset about?"

"They've been working on some mysterious job, probably mining, since any knowledge of the gold veins and the like is a closely guarded secret. Or maybe they were digging something up, something special from deep underground, who knows? Whatever it was, it apparently has been going on for like a decade. So, the Deepdwellers do all this work, and in the end Gringotts tells them to stop. No more digging, leave everything and go."

"Why? And if they're so upset about it, why not just continue on their own?"

"I don't know, goblins are weird, mate. Gringotts tells them to stop, and they have to stop. Deepdwellers get pissed, Gringotts offers them gold, but they don't want it. They just want to continue the job, this is why they're protesting."

"Protesting because they _want_ to work, and here I thought I saw everything." Tom was scratching his chin, thinking about all this new information, a welcome change from the Prophet's news. What have the Deepdwellers found, that they couldn't let go? What could possibly be more valuable than gold to the goblins?

"So, how much do I still owe you?" asked Ron. "Have you sold my watch yet?"

"No, I'll get around to it this weekend. But don't worry, I think it might just cover your fifty Galleons."

"Nice. If it goes for extra, let's split the money."

"We'll see. For now, get back to Harry, before he starts wondering where you are."

"Harry's with McGonagall, there's been some potions incident or something, so he has to do some Prefect stuff. Although, I'll get back to Sirius and Lupin – they already suspect that I owe money or something."

"Potions incident?" Tom's heart skipped a beat on hearing that. "How unfortunate. Well, I have to get my books from the common room, so see you later."

"We'll split the money, though, right?" Weasley called out after Tom.

"Yeah, whatever, " he replied automatically, wasting no time on getting to the common room. Tom skipped a few steps at a time, then went through a secret shortcut, spoke the password and ran to his trunk.

* * *

Tom was in the process of throwing half of the contents of his trunk onto the bed, when he finally found what he was looking for: a small box. He quickly opened it, revealing the gyroscope, an instrument that he made nearly two months ago, still rotating idly inside. The Soul Crystal dimly shone from its center.

He cast a quick locking charm on the door, and got to work, carefully pouring magical energy into the crystal with his wand. This was only the second time that he ever used it, as with every use he risked the gem cracking. Soon, a scene begun materializing itself before his mind:

_He saw his Head of the House, Professor McGonagall in front of him. The white walls of the hospital wing were all around him, with white beds lined up against them. Next to him a young student was laying in one such bed, asleep. _

"_She drank this potion, and her friends say it was not for the first time, " McGonagall was holding a small vial, labeled with the words 'Prince's Energy Tonic'. _

"_Is she going to be okay, Professor?" he heard himself say in a concerned voice. _

"_She will recover…" _

The crystal that he was staring into rattled against the metal, new cracks appearing on the surface. Tom let the vision slip away from him, fearful for its integrity. After a moment, he continued:

_He was looking at the second-year student, Sally-Anne Perks, remembering seeing her once or twice in the common room. He felt bad for her, how she felt the need to start using potions. Was she a Muggle-born? He couldn't remember much about her. _

"_Harry, I need you to inform the other prefects from your House. We need to remind the students about the danger of drinking unprescribed, and untested potions. Such a foolish thing to do at her age-" _

_He was sure that he has seen one of these vials before, wait, weren't those the same things Sirius drank to cure his hangovers? They seemed harmless enough… For now, he better pay attention to what McGonagall was saying though. _

"_I have never heard of an apothecary named 'Prince', perhaps Horace will know. I'll ask the house elves to start checking the mail for anything dangerous." _

Tom decided that he had seen enough, and ended the connection. The crystal looked almost broken into pieces, and the metal mechanism was hot to the touch. Tom didn't care about that, for the moment he was taking in every bit of the vision that he saw.

He found that seeing the world through somebody else's eyes was fascinating; however, it was nowhere near as clear as seeing it through your own. The sound, the sight, and the touch were clear enough, but Harry's thoughts were nearly completely inaccessible. The only thing that gave insight into them were his emotions, cold logic on the other hand, never made it through. The visions were pure sensation.

Thinking about the events themselves, Tom was actually surprised that everything with the potions trade went so smoothly until now. He expected Yaxley, or one of his friends, to at least get into detention by now. However, they somehow managed to avoid getting caught, be it by cunning, or simple luck. Unexpectedly, it was Snape that had failed him.

* * *

The atmosphere in Hogwarts was uneasy, people talked in nervous whispers, disturbed by the Prophet's news. Somebody was always rereading the newspaper, showing the pictures of an atomic explosion – a blinding flash of light, followed by a blossoming mushroom cloud.

Tom had to wait until all the lessons were over to speak to Snape, and the nervous atmosphere didn't make the wait very pleasant. Surprisingly, McGonagall cut her last lesson short, as nobody was able to concentrate. Tom set out on the easy task of finding Snape, as the fifth-year spend all his time over the cauldron, even when he already had a surplus of concoctions.

"Tom, good evening," the Half-blood said. "If this evening can even be called 'good'."

"Severus, you're getting sloppy. Did you know, that there is a girl in the hospital wing, all because you couldn't make a simple potion?"

"What?" Snape scowled. "No way it was one of mine, I never make mistakes. My potions are impeccable!"

"The bottle was signed _'Prince's Energy Tonic'_. I have to admit, the label got me confused, who is this _'prince'_? Perhaps we've got a new competitor?"

"Oh, no, that's me. My mother's maiden name is Prince, and I didn't want to call my creations after some Muggle. People need to know where they're coming from, so they don't buy the junk the shops sell."

"I suspected as much. Show me your latest batch." Snape was hesitant. "Now, Severus."

Snape took out a small box, full of little blue potions arranged inside wooden dividers. Tom grabbed one of the 'Prince's Tonics', and looked at it under a light. It was pure light blue, clean as spring water. Then, he uncorked the bottle, smelled it, and took a sip. It had a slightly tangy taste, though well balanced and refreshing. Finding nothing wrong with it, he picked out a few different vials at random, but they were of similarly high quality.

"See? I test them on myself, not only is there nothing wrong with them, you certainly won't find anything half as good at Slugs and Jiggers."

"They appear to be fine… what about Mundungus? Could he be cheating us on the ingredients?"

"I always check the ingredients," Snape looked almost offended. "There's nothing wrong with them, or my potions wouldn't turn out right."

"Calm down. The fact remains, that there is a second-year student lying unconscious in the hospital wing."

"Second-year? Oh, I think I know what went wrong. The stupid twerp probably drunk four a day, or something equally stupid. They give you energy, clear your head, enhance your memory – but they can't work forever. Slowly, your body becomes exhausted, but, you don't even notice it. It's not a problem with normal use, but combined with how young she is, I can see that it could cause problems."

"That does make sense… so you _do_ know your potions. Truth be told, I was surprised that it seemed like the problem was on your end, and not on Yaxley's. I think it's time that I pay him a visit."

* * *

Tom located Yaxley in the common room, talking and laughing with some Slytherins from the younger years. This was his task, to be well liked, and help out those in need with his arsenal of potions. However, despite it being all an act, Tom still found witnessing this social conformism nauseating.

"Yaxley, can I borrow you for a second?"

"Yeah, sure," Corban replied, and said to the group, "See you later, and remember about the party on Friday, kids!"

They responded with laughter, and waved him goodbye. Tom walked out of the common room with Yaxley, and they entered a random empty classroom. The place was filled with old desks, haphazardly placed across the whole interior. Tom picked one, and sat down on top of it.

"All day, I've been walking around with this problem over my head, trying to find out who was dumb enough to cause it. Turns out, it was your mess."

"Oh?" Corban blinked, confused "What did I do? The potions thing has been going perfectly, nobody snitches, they all just want more. I thought it would be harder, but I don't think even the teachers care."

"They are going to start caring pretty soon. What do you know about a girl named Sally-Anne?"

"Who? Ehh.. Wait, isn't it that second-year, Perks? Half-blood, a complete bookworm, a little weird I guess, but she buys a lot of those energy vials. Why do you ask? Did she snitch on me? Bitch."

"Not that I know of, at least not yet. How come you are selling them directly to Griffindors now? You have 'friends' in that house, have them do it, Griffindors won't snitch on one of their own. Very sloppy, Corban."

"I don't usually sell them to other Houses, I do have people for that. It's just that I found her in the library, sleeping over a book, and I took the opportunity. You know how these anti-social types are hard to find, they don't get out much, and their friends don't get out much either. You'd think they would at least be in the study groups, but those are filled by the popular kids. So, what happened?"

"She's in the hospital wing, for severe exhaustion, anemia. Turns out, if you are twelve, drinking so many energy potions is a bad idea. You don't even notice how tired you are on them, and so you keep drinking them until your body gives out."

"Oh, " Yaxley looked a little guilty.

"Are you friends with her?" noticed Tom. "McGonagall found out about the 'Prince's' potions, and she's not pleased. So far, it's only Griffindors that she's looking at, she's got the Head Boy on it. For now, you are going to stop nearly all sales to the Lions. Be extra careful, maybe spell the vials, so that they appear empty to the prying eyes."

Yaxley begun walking in circles, thinking it all over, and Tom watched him from his desk. Originally, he had thought that he'd have to take more drastic measures with Yaxley, somehow punish him for being so foolish. However, like Snape, he found him competent enough. Tom knew how to pick them.

"The hospital wing is still open," said Tom, looking at his watch. "You are going to go in there, and see if she's already awake. You're going to act like her friend, ask her how she's doing. Of course, nobody can see you, they would just start asking question. Do this, and she will keep her mouth shut."

Corban agreed, and walked to the door, but Tom had one more thing to say: "Yaxley? No more unlimited sales to the first three years. No more mistakes." Yaxley nodded, determined.

* * *

It was the next day, when the lessons didn't stretch into the late hours of the evening, that Tom sneaked out into the Forbidden Forest. These days, he has been continuing his quest for the Chamber of Secrets with new vigor, as if he had just started it. Also, it was a welcome distraction from the October Crisis, which weighed heavily even over the Wizarding World.

Over the last weekend, he had visited the caves which dotted the landscape around Hogsmeade. Supposedly, they housed hidden tunnels and passageways, created hundreds of years ago by the goblins. Tom explored them thoroughly, finding only a few collapsed tunnels, and nothing particularly remarkable. There were some old tools, some metal pickaxe blades, and a few unidentifiable bones. The rebellion of 1612 was clearly nowhere near as peaceful as the current goblin disputes.

Hogsmeade had a quite colorful, and violent past. During the previous century, due to some mysterious event, the whole village burned down. The particularities were kept quiet, and the village was rebuild, however in a slightly different place. Old Hogsmeade had actually been much larger than it was now, but all that remained of it, was the well and the Shrieking Shack. The Shack was supposedly the most haunted place in all of Britain, and similar bad rumors circulated around the former site of the Old Hogsmeade.

After being done with the caves, during the school week, Tom decided to discover the secrets of the Forbidden Forest. He wandered the woodland trails, the little meadows, and followed the ice cold streams. It was a slow process, as the forest could quickly become quite a maze sometimes, or simply a complete slog to get through in the thicker areas. This exploration took him back to his childhood, when his father was still alive. Back then, he never spent much of his time at home, as being around his father was never a good idea, and looked for amusement outside.

Despite the scary sounding name, Tom hadn't found the Forbidden Forest particularly dangerous. Most of the creatures, like Unicorns, run at the sight of humans, and Centaurs just kept to themselves. Pixies flew high among the trees, and Thestrals grazed on the meadows, surprisingly friendly despite their appearance. Tom also saw plenty of mundane animals, like deer or boar, and snakes slithering among the grass. He even run into a pack of wolves once, but he scared them away with a few fireworks from his wand.

Currently, Tom was making his way through a particularly untamed area, full of fallen trees and razor sharp vines. However, they weren't that big of a problem, as he enchanted his robe against being ripped all the time. Once he finished this uphill climb, the forest opened up, and it finally became comfortable to walk through. Tom expected this, as he didn't pick this path at random – earlier, he had noticed a faint hint of smoke coming from this area.

He carefully made his way forward, stepping over the exposed roots, wand in hand. Then, he identified the source of the smoke: an outlandish, wooden hut. The architecture was unlike anything he had ever seen before, slightly reminiscent of the Native American Tipi, decorated in bright, pastel colors. However, the door was twice as big than normal, which made him wonder what had actually lived there. The mystery was solved once he heard a set of hooves coming towards him.

"Leave this place, human." A large centaur stopped right in front of him, proudly holding a long lance in one hand, and an intricately decorated shield in the other. The painting on it looked as if something from the Ancient Greece – a repulsive face of a Gorgon, with snakes instead of hair, and the tongue stuck out in a dreadful grimace.

"Greetings, centaur, I mean you no harm," Tom lowered his wand. "I came here, because I have an important query. But first, what is your name? I am Tom Riddle."

"You try my patience, Tom Riddle," the centaur said, while threading the ground with his hooves. "They call me Bane. I've seen you in our forest before, so just to indulge my curiosity, I will permit this. Speak, and be gone. Do not expect an answer, however."

"I've been searching this forest, for something from a bygone era. Back when my school has just been built, there was one Wizard who didn't agree with the others. His symbol was the snake, just like one of those on your shield. He is an ancestor of mine, and supposedly left something behind, something that he wanted his true heir to find. I believe, that he built this something in the forest, before he left this place for good. Do you know of any such old structure?"

"The secrets of this forest are not for the Wizard-kind. What have your peoples ever brought us, but pain and humiliation? No, how dare you think, that I will just obediently help you, like a tamed, dumb horse?" The conversation seemed to be taking a dangerous turn.

"Oh, but we would be helping each other. For I can offer you something very valuable."

Bane let out a short, and unpleasant laugh, "There is nothing under those stars that you could possibly offer me. The forest provides me all that I require, we centaurs have no use for your gold. We turn ourselves towards much greater pursuits, towards the future, towards the unknown. The material world is of no consequence to us."

"Nevertheless, I think that there is something which you lack. Something denied to you, something that could be of great use, enabling you to reach much, much further than ever before." The centaur just looked at him with a curious expression his face. "A wand."

Bane let out a weird sound, resembling a bray, and run off on his hooves. Shortly, he came back again, and extended his hand for Tom's wand, saying, "I accept."

"No, not this one, it would not listen to you. I have another, with a core of Unicorn hair, without an owner." Tom took out a long box out of his pocket, and opened it, revealing a second yew wand. It once used to belong to Myrtle Warren, but he somehow managed to acquire it, and kept it as a memento.

Tom knew that he couldn't comb through the entire Forbidden Forest in a single year, that he needed help. When he came up with this plan, at first he didn't want to let go of Myrtle's wand. But, when he questioned himself why, he found only weakness, and grew disgusted by it. In giving it away, he would be moving forward, choosing to pursue his destiny instead. Now, he felt only satisfaction when the half-breed's fingers closed around it – soon, the hidden entrance to the Chamber would be his.

"I can feel the torrents of magic responding to my touch," said Bane, wand in hand. "What splendor, what magnificence. The others will not care for it, no. Even the Wizards don't know what a grand gift this is, they stifle their magic with crude incantations, only using it for cheap parlor tricks."

The centaur waved the wand, but no spark came forth, only an eerie, white light. As it faded away, Bane stared at it in amazement, and said, "I can already feel the veil of the future falling away before me, exposing the shifting weaves of fate, the infinite possibilities of the days to come. Yes, Wizard, by the strength of the Unicorn held within, this rod shall serve me well."

"Good. Now, fulfill your end of the bargain."

"A centaur honors their word, Tom Riddle. As fate has it, I know of a certain place which might be what you are looking for." Bane stuck his new wand in his belt, and said, "Follow me, and make haste, for the darkness falls quickly."

They set out a brisk pace, which for the centaur was a slow trot, but for Tom it meant that he was nearly running. Bane knew the forest well, and guided him along woodland trails, sometimes taking a shortcut through a meadow, or crossing a stream. In order to avoid getting wet, Tom levitated himself over the water, as Bane watched on curiously.

Eventually they climbed onto a scenic hilltop, with another hill on the opposite side of a small valley stretching before them, bathed in the red rays of the setting sun. A peculiar rock formation was draped across that hill, a winding chain of large boulders, as if a fossilized, ancient snake-god. Whether they were just a unique rocky outcrop, or deliberately arranged there for some mysterious purpose, was anybody's guess.

"The Ophidian Tor," proclaimed Bane. "Nothing more than a curious collection of boulders. My part of the bargain is fulfilled, and our dealings are over, human."

For Tom, this was far from nothing, and he looked on with awe. "Nobody else can know of our deal, centaur. Just as nobody can know of your new possession."

"You think me a fool?" snorted Bane. "My lips are sealed. Farewell, Tom Riddle. Enjoy your prize."

* * *

As the centaur galloped away, Tom sat down and lit a cigarette, taking in the magnificence of what was before him. The Ophidian Tor begun its climb in the valley below, and rose along the hillside until it culminated in an awe-inspiring peak, as if an open mouth of a serpent. Tom knew, that this was undoubtedly what he was looking for, a culmination of all his efforts.

To him, it was far more than partially eroded rock - it was his ancestors reaching out to him. He felt a greater sense of connection to Salazar Slytherin than any living person. Tom was disgusted by what his mother's family had become, but before him was the testimony of their bygone might, and he stared at it as Narcissus stared into a pond. After he took it all in, Tom finally stood up, and he crossed the valley, heading towards the rocks.

From up close, they no longer resembled anything in particular, but a towering mass of inanimate stone. Tom walked along it, all the way to the top of the hill, where the 'head' opened its maw towards the sky. He decided on manually climbing to the top, and not just levitating there, in a hope that the physical contact would somehow make him feel closer to his ancestors.

It was not an easy task, but the rock easily held his weight, and he made it to the top after a brief struggle. His hands burned from the climb, and his muscles were sore, but it was well worth it. The peak rose above the surrounding trees, giving a clear view of the Forbidden Forest, and even the lights shining from Hogwarts in the distance. The sun had already set over the horizon, but the clouds were still ignited with vivid red light.

As the cold winds from the distant North Sea blew at Tom, chilling him to the bone, he turned his attention back to the Tor. He lit his wand, and pointed it towards the center of the maw. The stone did open up in the middle, but it was far from the secret entrance that Tom had hoped to see. He slid down, and started examining it. No outward magic poured from it, nothing that would hint at a secret passage, but then Tom noticed something peculiar.

There was a small relief sunk into the stone, uncharacteristically smooth and symmetrical, as if somebody pressed some object into it with great force. The outline was oval, and in its center there was an unmistakable _'S'_, the mark of Slytherin. Tom's excitement reached its zenith – he'd finally found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. But how to open it?

He spoke many words in Parseltongue, from commands to pleads, but the stone remained immobile. Then Tom cut his finger, bleeding into the hole, hoping that this would do the trick. Perhaps his blood was too impure, or perhaps he didn't meet some hidden requirement, but nothing would work. He became frustrated, as it was clear that he was missing something – a key, something that would fit inside the hole. The Ring on his finger was far too small, so there must have been some other object, a secret artifact, long lost to the passage of time. Would he be able to find it?

Darkness fell over the Forbidden Forest, awakening many terrible creatures, ones which could not stand the light of the day. Chilling howls could be heard from the forest below, along with many more unnerving sounds of disturbing abnormality. Tom wasn't in the mood to find out what manner of horror lurked down there, and decided on making camp inside the stone jaws themselves, high above the trees. He unrolled his sleeping bag on the hard rock, and climbed inside it, quickly falling asleep, even despite the horrid noises.

He dreamt of snakes, and of an old man with a long beard, who tenderly spoke to them in Parseltongue.


	9. The Creatures from the Depths

On Sunday morning, as the students were getting ready for the trip to Hogsmeade, the conversations were sill centered around the ongoing events on Cuba. Even in the Slytherin common room, there was a hubbub about the ongoing standoff, about Muggle ships clashing together, and some flying Muggle being shot and killed over the island.

Tom walked into the room, and upon hearing the exact same conversations that have been going on since the beginning of the week, decided that he had enough. He drew his wand, and silenced the crowd with a loud bang.

"I walk into Salazar's own house, and this is what I hear? Slytherins gossiping about Muggles like a bunch of blood traitors. Are you really so pathetic, that you concern yourselves with them so much, perhaps, even fear them?"

He walked around the silent room, looking the students in their faces, "Have you no shame? If anything, you should be excited, joyful in the last few seconds before the jump into the unknown. I see confusion in your eyes, so let me explain.

"You are undoubtedly familiar with the Hesiod's Ages of Man - how the world degenerates from the Golden Age, into the inferior ages of lesser metals. At first, great toil appears in the Silver Age, then constant war of the Bronze Age, and it all ends in the horrors of the Iron Age.

"The goodness and morality of man is gone, replaced by greed, sin, decadence and murder. These men of iron no longer feel any remorse, or shame from their actions, finding little sense in their lives. It is the age of dissolution of all values, where chaos and darkness rule the Earth. The Hindus called this epoch by the name 'Kali Yuga', when the terrible goddess Kali is awake, and wanders the Earth.

"Undoubtedly, we are living in this very last age, but there is another piece to this tale. The last secret is this: the Ages of Man are not only transitory, but they also come in cycles. The Iron Age will descend into the stormy waters of absolute chaos, the primordial ocean that was once the beginning of all things, and out of it, a new world shall be born.

"Yes, my friends – the Golden Age is just around the corner. The Age of the Sun, of the light, of good fortune. According to myth, men once lived like gods, forever young, unmarred by sorrow or labor. They were good and noble, possessors of great strength. If they died, it was as if they fell asleep, and turned into good spirits, _daimones_, which wandered the Earth in peace.

"This is what the future has in store for us - all we need to do is to brave these chaotic waters. And I will see to it, that we will."

* * *

As the students were leaving for Hogsmeade, Tom headed for the dungeons, and then even lower, into the underground aqueduct. Once he reached the caves, illuminated by the light from the well, he was no longer within the protective sphere of Hogwarts – and therefore free to apparate away. Tom changed out of his uniform into unmarked robes, and cast a quick charm over his face, distorting his features until they were completely unrecognizable.

Thus prepared, he disappeared with a loud crack, which echoed throughout the caves. After a brief assault on his senses, he reappeared on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. The passersby didn't even spare him a glance.

The first thing that he noticed was the faint smell of coal, seeping in from the surrounding Muggle city, and then he turned his gaze towards the goblin bank. A series of red tents blocked its entrance, permitting only a few Wizards at a time to walk in through the bank doors, which resulted in a big queue. He could also see a few goblins mingling around the tents, others standing guard near the bank entrance.

However, Tom had other things to take care of – he directed his footsteps to the extravagant display of the Ogden's Emporium, richly decorated with various bottles of liquor, mainly expensive whiskey. He entered the shop, which was completely empty in this morning hour, as even the clerk was nowhere to be seen.

Tom turned over the sign at the door to 'closed', dispelled the enchantment from his face, and rung the bell. Soon, a rather young clerk appeared behind the counter, only a few years older than a typical Hogwarts graduate.

"What can- Tom? Welcome, welcome, it's a pleasure. What can I do for you today?"

"Good morning, Avery. I was in the neighborhood, and I thought that I'd pay you a visit."

"Hey, you probably want to see the bottles, come with me to the back," Avery lead him to the shop's storeroom, a dark place, stuff with various boxes and liquor. He picked up a wooden crate, and laid it in front of Tom, prying open the lid.

"These are all surplus, I altered the shipment manifest and it's like nobody even knows that they ever existed. Not that they're this valuable anyway, but they're free, and I can easily get away with losing a few bottles every month."

"Nice work, Avery. Mundungus will come to pick them up. You'll of course get your own cut."

"Are you joking? I'm in your debt, I would have probably got expelled if it wasn't for you. They're on the house this time."

"You're loyal, I won't forget that." Avery closed the crate up again. "What's going on Diagon these days? Have the goblins been causing any trouble?"

"Goblins? Horrid creatures, they've been keeping to themselves, but I'm telling you, there's something very wrong about them. They're unlike any goblins that I've ever seen, with unnatural grey skin and pitch black eyes, that never seem to close. And the smell…! Sometimes, such putrid odor comes from their tents, you'd think that they fill them with dead rats."

"Have they ever done anything unusual?"

"Besides camping in the middle of Diagon Alley for like two months? No, they keep to themselves, and any respectable Wizard stays far away, using the post or direct delivery to get their money. It's mostly scum that ever tries to get into Gringotts these days, Mudbloods and the like."

"Gringotts must be overjoyed to have such visitors." Tom kept up his questioning, "Have they done nothing to get rid of the goblins?"

"Nothing directly, they don't want people to lose confidence in them, a civil war would make everyone withdrawal their money, I think. Nah, they just tried to open up a secondary office on Diagon, the grey faced ones found out about it, and it went nowhere, nobody could get in."

They spoke for some more, Tom listening to the current rumors and events going on in Diagon alley, and Nott saying all that he could remember. Eventually, the conversation fizzled out, and Tom bid him farewell.

"Before you go, I have a present for you, on the house," Avery pulled out an expensive looking bottle. "It's the good stuff, take it. If you don't drink it, give it to somebody else, or sell it. It's the least I can do."

* * *

Tom left the Alley, and headed into the dark and narrow passages of Knockturn. The place was filled with the most shady looking people, and equally shady looking shops, which fulfilled some of the more ignominious needs of the Wizard population.

Tom entered what looked like a pawnshop, one that could have easily been located on Diagon Alley, if it were not for the malicious and vile nature of its merchandise. Many Wizengamot hearing was convened with the intention of regulating such dark artifacts, somehow with little to no success so far.

Each item in the Borgin and Burkes shop was either cursed in some way, or enabled the user to cause extraordinary harm, in the most insidious and hateful of ways imaginable. Many of the cursed objects had a rich history of such despicable usage, proudly displayed by the owners on the labels and placards. The number of muggle deaths was merely a footnote, but the unfortunate deceased Wizards were sometimes even depicted in moving photographs, a few taken right at the moment of their death.

"What can I do for you, young sir? We have many items, which can suit… any need." Said Mr. Burkes, a man of nearly grotesque appearance, who nevertheless was making some pathetic attempt to hold onto his bygone prime.

"Good day, Mr. Burkes. We haven't met before, but I believe Mr. Malfoy did inform you of my visit?"

"That he did, Mr. Riddle, welcome to my humble shop. You had a certain item which you wanted appraised?"

Tom took out the astronomical watch which Ron gave him, and placed it in Burkes' hands, who preceded to inspect it with the help of a magnifying monocle. He took his time studying all the various functions that the time piece had, comparing them against some old tome.

"A very interesting piece indeed. I'd say it was made sometime in the middle of the last century, by some extremely fanatical star-watcher. There are people who would be interested in this, yes. Mr. Malfoy spoke very highly of you, sir, and I think you will find the price of one hundred fifty galleons more than acceptable."

"You've got yourself a sale, Mr. Burkes. Truth be told, the said item is of little importance to me. I came here for a matter of much greater consequence."

"Oh?" grunted Burkes, who was in the process of taking out the Galleons out of his safe.

"I am on the search for a lost artifact, something that was once owned by one of the founders. Do you have any knowledge of anything that might have belonged to Salazar Slytherin?"

"Slytherin, huh? Many collectors are in the search of such objects, usually in vain. It's a very delicate matter, even if I knew of any such item, I couldn't possibly break the confidence my customers. Surely, you can understand."

"The item I'm looking for is no more than a three inches in length, oval, with an intricate '_S_' on the surface." As Tom described the item, he spotted a change in Burkes expression, which unmistakably betrayed the shopkeeper's familiarity with the item. So close to the answers that he was looking for, Tom decided to press on, "Let me share a secret with you. You see, I am not merely some greedy collector – the item belongs to me by right. I am the heir of Salazar Slytherin."

The shopkeeper looked at him with an incredulous expression, which quickly morphed into shock, when Tom demonstrated the truth of his words. Disturbing hissing came from his mouth, which no human vocal cords could ever hope to reproduce. Burkes blinked a few times, and then his demeanor changed into an even more subservient one.

"By Merlin, so it is true! If I only had known…! Alas, Mr. Malfoy was very cryptic in his letter, and with good reason." Burkes made a deep bow, and continued, "Not many understand the significance of blood, especially these days, but I am among them. Many years ago, I have purchased the said item, a golden locket of intricate craftsmanship. A very rugged looking woman, in torn clothes, came in here with the intention of selling it, for a mere few Galleons. She didn't know what she had, it was undoubtedly stolen, but I was glad to take it off her hands. Alas, the locket is no longer with me."

Anger flashed through Tom's face, beneath which stirred the jumble of conflicting emotions that he had for his mother. On one hand, he despised his father, and blamed him for her death. As a child, he had only good memories of her, but this opinion changed with time, when he found out more about her. She had magic, yet never used it, condemning him to a miserable, mundane life with his father. All this undoubtedly made her a blood traitor of the worst sort, unfit to carry on Salazar's legacy, which she ungratefully threw all away.

"What happened to it?" said Tom, putting these thoughts to the back of his mind.

"I sold it, to a woman named Hephzibah Smith. She has passed away recently, and her valuables are held by the Ministry, at least until the matter of her will is resolved. Her grandson will mostly likely inherit everything, but they weren't on very good terms – I'm pretty sure he will liquidate most of her assets, as he never cared for her trinkets. Oh yes, I have been following this matter for some time now, she possessed many valuable things."

"Won't her grandson hold on to the valuables for now, with the peculiar situation at Gringotts?"

"Perhaps, but he will need some spending money. That old magpie, Hephzibah, stored nearly all her wealth in antiques. When he starts unloading them, I will be there, waiting for the locket. It won't be cheap, oh no. But, if you have the coin, you will be undoubtedly get it, Mr. Riddle."

"I have been gathering funds, but I do not have unlimited time, Mr. Burkes."

"Don't worry sir, I pretty sure it will all be resolved soon enough. You will get what is rightfully yours."

"Glad to hear it. One more thing before I go," said Tom. "Did you hear any rumors about the goblins? Anything of interest about those grey-faced dregs, that they have out front of the bank?"

"Grey goblins? Despicable monstrosities, I want nothing to do with them. Gringotts comes directly to my shop these days, just to take the Galleons to their vaults." Burkes scratched one of his chins, "Although, there have been some weird people going around Knockturn lately, riling everybody up, causing all sorts of trouble. They keep talking against the goblins, and folks tend to agree with them, as they too have no love for the goblin menace. I wouldn't be surprised if there were blood on the streets one of these days."

* * *

After his productive visit to Knockturn, Tom returned to Diagon Alley, as he wanted to see this new kind of goblin for himself. He joined the queue to the bank, and as he was standing in the very diverse line of Wizards, he saw one of the Deepdwellers for the very first time.

The grey goblin presented a quite disturbing and abnormal sight, a creature that should have remained in the dark bowels of the earth, where its unnerving features would be forever hidden from the light of the day. It had a dark grey, scabby skin, irregular as if it was suffering from some horrid disease, disfiguring it completely.

The facial structure of the goblin was absolutely alien, with numerous, wonky teeth protruding out of a lipless mouth. Its eyes, adapted to the blackest of caves, were abnormally large, with gigantic black irises. Two huge bat-like ears framed this grotesque visage, on which hanged numerous gold earrings of some barbaric design.

Tom was both repulsed, and on some level fascinated by this terrible abomination. It's no wonder that Gringotts feared to take any action – who knows what vile acts these horrifying monsters were really capable of. It was as if a creature from the very bottom of the ocean came out onto the land, completely alien and terrifying to anything that lived under the warm glow of the sun.

Nevertheless, he had to investigate further. What have these goblins been doing, what dark secrets from the depths have they uncovered? It must have been something terrible indeed, if Gringotts risked the ire of the Deepdwellers by telling them to stop. Tom now absolutely had to get inside one of those crimson tents, but there was no way to do this unnoticed - he had to cause a distraction. And so, he discretely took out his wand, and pointed it at the back of the man standing in front of him.

"_Saevus_," he whispered the incantation. He repeated this curse on a few more people in front of him, and stood back.

Soon, the impatience those Wizards felt turned into uncontrollable anger. All it took was somebody trying to cut into the queue, and a fight broke out. Unable to control their rage, they began punching and screaming like lunatics, one of them throwing himself onto the grey goblin.

As everybody was busy looking at this commotion, Tom tapped his head with his wand, casting the disillusionment charm over his body. When a few goblins run out of the nearby tent, he slipped inside it. Despite a peculiar stench, the inside was quite mundane, it seemed like a dining area. The tents were undoubtedly bought from some human shop, since the Deepdwellers supposedly never left the underground.

He went through a few more of them, until he found something that looked much more promising. A long desk stood in the center of that tent, covered with various papers, it was most likely some sort of an office. Tom started looking through them, they seemed to be mostly correspondence, all pertaining to the goblin stay on the surface. Letters from shops, letters of complaint, some official Ministry notices.

As he was busy trying to find anything interesting, one of the grey goblins entered the tent, a long saber in hand. Tom stood absolutely still in a corner behind the desk, hoping that the goblin would leave him be. It sniffed with its long nose, and scanned the interior with its unblinking eyes.

"Intruder!" it gargled, spotting Tom immediately, even despite his disillusionment. As it was advancing, weapon in hand, Tom quickly jumped into action. He waved his wand at the large desk, bringing it to life. The heavy wood somehow stood up, and then jumped onto the goblin, pressing it into the ground with its bulk. The goblin continued making horrid noises, waving it's saber around, but it was completely powerless.

Having been spotted during his unsuccessful search, Tom quickly disapparated, leaving the cobbled streets of London behind.

* * *

Harry Potter was out after curfew. Not out of any particular desire to break rules, but out of his duty as a prefect to patrol the corridors on this Sunday night. He didn't particularly enjoy handing out detentions, and always tried to give people at least one chance, by just deducting points. Especially now, when the threat of nuclear warfare hanged over the whole world. Nevertheless, when he spotted a student stumbling through the corridor, bottle in hand, he decided that he had enough.

"Hey, you! Get over here," he said, annoyed. "Do you know what time it is? And that I can smell you from over here?"

The only reaction that the student gave, was that they were still slowly coming nearer. Harry lit up his wand even brighter, until it revealed the student's face. He recognized it immediately.

"Tom?" Harry said, in shock, "I thought that you didn't drink."

"Hi, Harry. Yes… it's me. Now, are you going to give me a detention? Deduct points?"

"Of course not. What happened? And give me that bottle, you've had enough." Tom didn't protest. "Is that whole Cuban thing getting to you? I know it's getting to me."

"Did I ever tell you about my father? He was a mean drunk."

Harry looked around the corridor, and then dragged Tom out of the open into an empty classroom. It was illuminated by the pale moonlight, coming in from gigantic windows, making the whole place bright enough to see. Tom proved to be less drunk than he appeared, and he opened one of those windows, then quicker than Harry could stop him, stepped onto the battlements.

"It's a really nice night, and what fresh air," he said, after having leaned against one of the stone merlons. "C'mon, get outside."

After a moment of hesitation, Harry stepped outside as well. "It's cold as hell. Let me cast a warming charm." He waved his wand, and then asked with some concern, "What was that about your father? You never said that he used to drink."

"I suppose I didn't. Your father almost idolizes him for some reason, says that Riddle Senior saved his life. Maybe it did really happen, but it doesn't change the fact that he was an… unpleasant person. I won't go into detail, but let's just say, that I was relieved when he died."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. It must have been awful." There was a moment of awkward silence, broken by Harry asking, "Do you remember your mother? I sometimes feel like I do mine, but in reality, I think I was too young to remember."

"I do. Back then, I used to think that she was a saint. Now I'm not so sure." Tom leaned back, and looked up into the night sky. "You know, when I was little, the stars really terrified me. They're so incomprehensibly far away, surrounded by such impenetrable darkness, absolute void."

"When you put it that way, they still sound pretty scary."

"They make you feel really small, insignificant. As a kid, even though I had magic, I never felt like I was in control. That's what I like about my current life, you know? I'm the one calling the shots. At least I thought I was."

"Why? Didn't Dumbledore get you out of the Unspeakables? You're free, just one more year and you'll be out of Hogwarts." Harry looked at the bottle that he was still holding, "Or, is it the drinking?"

"No. I'm nothing like my pathetic father."

"You're really lucky that it was I who found you. What is going on?"

Tom sighed, "How do I put this… Have you ever thought about the problem of evil? Why bad things happen?"

"I try not to," said Harry, and took a swig from the bottle. "I know I'm a prefect, but this is quite good. About evil, I don't think there is a satisfactory answer. I might say pain has a point, or something about free will, but at the end of the day – is that really enough justification? I can't say that to somebody who's had it really bad, not with a clean conscience."

"Exactly, it doesn't make sense. But, do you remember our talk, back in Hogsmeade?"

"What, about souls? I remember there are three parts to them."

"No, about something even more permanent than souls."

"The Spirit."

"Yes, the Spirit. Eternal, uncreated, but chained to the soul, chained to this body. Isn't that a little strange? It's wholly not of this world. Beyond it, transcendental, absolute perfection."

"You believe that?" Tom nodded to Harry's question. "Even despite the fact that by definition, you can never have any proof?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. What's the alternative? That this doesn't really mean anything, that some common Dementor can rob you of an afterlife? No, I refuse to believe it. But, only a fool would think that we're completely safe."

"What do you mean?"

"This world - it's a trap. Somebody, and it wasn't us, chained the Spirit to this pathetic body. Imposed such limitation, a set of absurd rules, by which everything dies and decays. You have no control over when, and how you are born, over the heavy burden of life. Suddenly, you are bombarded by endless responsibility, from moral imperatives to simple survival – and if you don't get with the program, bad things happen to you. You get mercilessly and cruelly punished.

"Causality is like a current, if you try to swim against it, you drown. Even if you do everything right, there is no guarantee. You could catch Dragon Rot and die in agonizing pain, all the while hoping for the release of death. Only a madman would sign up for something such as this."

"That was really dark," Harry took another swig. "But it's not that bad all the time, good things do happen. And, if Spirits exist, there is always the afterlife."

"That's the thing, if the Spirit can be chained to this mortal realm once, it could be done again. Why would the afterlife be any different from what we have now, anyway? No, the guy who made this world will make sure that you can't escape."

"Who, God? I think that if you believe in God, he's supposed to be good, or he wouldn't be God."

"No, not God. According to some, this flawed material world has been made by a being called 'the Demiurge'. It is a name that you will rarely find written down, and it is only spoken about in hushed whispers. They say, that this world has been made by a demon, either wholly cruel, or just mindless. This is why there is all this evil and suffering. It's all part of a design of this lesser being.

"The purpose behind is mysterious, but there is a definite direction to it, after all you are crushed if you don't get along with the rules. Then, your soul is stripped of all memory, stuck in an afterlife to be recycled. This process isn't always so smooth, and gives rise to ghosts. The Demiurge reuses the Spirit, it needs it to fuel its vile experiment. And so, the Spirits are forever trapped in a horrifying cycle of reincarnation."

"It sounds awful. If this is true, is there really no escape?"

"Perhaps when this world ends, or when its mysterious purpose is fulfilled. Who knows, maybe some Spirits have already managed to break free."

Harry stared into the distance for a while, there was something about the darkness in front of him, which made him stop and seriously ponder the nearly absurd statements which Tom made. Despite the heating charm, he shivered, and then asked, "Do you really believe in all of this?"

"Sometimes I believe it, mostly I don't." They passed the bottle back and forth a few times, and then Tom said, "There will come a time, when I will need your help."

"With what? I'll do it if I can, whatever it is."

"It's something wholly unrelated – the goblins. You know how they are blocking Gringotts right now?" Harry nodded, and Tom told him most of what he knew about the current situation, of course forgoing to mention why he was so interested in all of this. "I'm afraid that sooner or later, Gringotts is going to take action. And it's not going to be pretty. They won't act directly, but they will rile people up, stage a riot with hired mercenaries."

"And you want us to sneak into Diagon Alley, and stop them? What can I say – I'm in."

"Good," Tom smiled. "Have your cloak at the ready. I have a friend on Diagon who will keep an eye out, and when the riot starts, we will know."

It was really late now, so they both went their separate ways. Harry a little bit pensive, and shaken up by the strange metaphysics relayed to him. Tom on the other hand, was surprisingly cheerful.


	10. The Riots in Diagon Alley

Both sides have made concessions, and after a total of thirteen days, the Missile Crisis had officially ended. For nearly two weeks, the world stood on the brink of total annihilation, a mere hair-length away from the nuclear holocaust. Even now, the Cold War was still in progress, and the peace was just barely kept by the threat of mutually assured destruction.

Dark clouds were also hanging over the Wizarding World, with tensions running high, and isolationist sentiments on the rise. While the Second World War had clear sides, and a real evil in the form of the Axis, now there was a division even within the Magical Britain.

This was something entirely new, as only a decade or two ago, no real Brit would ever consider supporting Grindelwald or his radical ideals. Now, some were beginning to see the entirety of the Muggle civilization as a threat, or at least something to be dealt with. The old views of Salazar Slytherin were being considered once more, as none wanted to destabilize the Muggle world, push it over the edge by a breach of the Statute of Secrecy.

The Wizards and Witches were also slowly becoming aware of another, more insidious threat, just looming in the darkness. The newspapers have been reporting many incidents of inter-species violence, and not just in Diagon Alley. The post-war world was experiencing a recession, and with unemployment rose not only poverty, but also crime. As such, the Wizarding World was not only potentially threatened from outside, but it was also breaking apart from within.

* * *

Harry felt the world spinning around him, as he was traveling in a dizzying whirlwind of visuals, being pulled by Tom in side-along apparition. Tom came to him right in the middle of the supper, saying that it was time. He knew what that meant, and they took one of the secret passages to Honey Dukes, quickly apparating from there.

Soon, he felt the space in front of him open up with a deafening crack, and he was placed in the middle of a shop. Judging by the merchandise around him, it was the Ogden's Emporium, as the place was filled with booze.

"Good evening, Tom. And Harry, was it?" Harry nodded to the Avery's question. "The mob is in Knockturn for now, but it's just a matter of time before they get to Gringotts. I contacted you as soon as I found out."

When Harry looked out the shop's window, he couldn't actually see anything, not even the other side of the street. The outside world was just a diffused yellow glow, the glass seemed to be nearly completely opaque.

"There's a really bad fog outside," explained Avery. "It seeps in from the Muggles, they burn so much coal you can hardly breathe. Disgusting, I have to constantly clean the shop from it."

They had to prepare before going outside. Tom transfigured some thin, black cloth, which they tied over their mouths. Then they disguised their robes, and a few more charms later, they were ready. Wands in hand, they stepped out onto the cobbled street.

Biting cold air stung their skin, and an overwhelming coal smell filled their nostrils, even despite their masks. They slowly made their way forward, being guided by nothing but the vague shapes of streetlights, which lit the thick coal-soup around them. They didn't dare to give away their position by any light or sound, and wands in hand, they were listening for any break in the silence.

The night was dead quiet, the loudest thing that Harry could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat. Being fully submerged in this foreign-looking world, made Harry think that they were walking along the bottom of a lake, murky water all around them.

Then, they finally heard the distant noises of the crowd, which slowly grew louder as they were creeping forward. The sounds became so loud, that they were expecting to run into them anytime now. Harry couldn't tell how many yards or feet away they were, as the thick fog carried sound much better than normal air.

In the beginning, all they could hear were loud cheers and chants, but over time the noises became more and more disturbing. First, an inhuman shriek could be heard, which chilled them to the bone. Then, the cheers of the crowd turned into loud screams, be it of pain or anger. Curse fire begun lighting the night, and when one such spell whizzed dangerously close, Tom decided that it was time to act.

At his request, Harry took out his invisibility cloak, and draped it over them. Tom then stuck out his wand from under the fabric, and cast forth a powerful spell, which made short work of the fog. Nearly the entire street was cleared, exposing the events from in front of the bank for all to see.

There were dozens of wizards, straight out of pubs, who apparently have finally decided to teach the goblins a lesson. As Tom earlier told Harry, it might have not been wholly of their own design, he heard rumors that they were being incited by some outside party. Either way, their resentment had finally boiled over, and thinking that the fog would hide them from the Aurors, they marched on the goblins. This turned out to be a very bad idea, as the Deepdwellers thrived in such conditions.

Now, huddled together, the rioters were surrounded by a number of goblins, all armed to the teeth with sabers and spears. The grey goblins were using the fog to their advantage, jabbing a wizard or two, only to swiftly disappear into the darkness. This was a truly horrifying experience for the Wizards, who never knew when to expect the next attack, one flash of a blade and they fell, doubled in pain. The goblins were successfully driving them back to Knockturn, all the while keeping their real numbers a mystery – it was only a matter of time before the Wizards would break.

However, Tom's spell had exposed this goblin tactic, turning the tables for a moment. Deepdwellers had to retreat, chased away by the spell-fire from the angry crowd. Even though that the fog quickly came back in, the Wizards were on the attack once more, instead of running away in panic. Several goblins were hit, their tents were lit ablaze.

Under his cloak, Harry slowly followed Tom, trusting his lead. When they reached he campsite, the visibility once again became nearly non-existent, causing mayhem all around them. Goblins and Wizards were running around, no longer forming any organized groups.

Then, a few cracks were heard on the street, signaling that the Aurors had finally arrived, and were now trying to arrest both sides. The Aurors didn't do much good, and the three factions were now fighting each other, with the Wizards hardly knowing who is who.

As they were making their way through this warzone, Harry and Tom were suddenly assaulted by a horrible stench, so putrid that it made them stop and gag. It was hard to pin down what it actually was, other than a foul odor of rot and decay.

"Where is that coming from," said Tom, sniffing despite his disgust. "Let's check it out."

"Are you insane? I don't want to go anywhere near that."

"C'mon, don't be a baby," Tom replied, and cast a Bubble-Head Charm over Harry. "There you go."

They followed the stench, as it seemed to be coming from one of the tents. However, there was nothing inside, other than a few crates.

"Keep watch," said Tom and stepped from under the cloak. He began examining the crates, opening them up, which just revealed some tools. However, when he levitated one of the crates away, the mystery of the foul odor was revealed. The wooden crate was half-covering a manhole, undoubtedly the entrance to where the goblins have retreated to escape the Wizards.

"Are we going in?" asked Harry.

"Of course."

* * *

Tom levitated off the heavy metal cover, and Harry climbed down into the darkness, below the streets of Diagon Alley. When he lit his wand, he saw that he was standing in the middle of a brick tunnel, and not a sewer as one might have expected. Tom jumped down after him, and after closing the entrance, they begun moving forward.

They didn't dare making too much noise, or shining their wand too brightly, all the while readying for an attack. The total darkness in front of them stimulated Harry's imagination, making him recall his earlier glimpses of the Deepdwellers. What he saw was so unnatural and grotesque, that the thought of an intelligence working behind those lidless eyes filled him with dread, even despite of how open-minded he usually was.

However, the brick walls of the tunnel which arched above them, contained nothing but empty space. After a brief walk, they entered a slightly bigger underground chamber, whose far away walls disappeared into the oppressive darkness. The ground was slightly softer, and marked with the impressions of many webbed feet, all very fresh.

"What do you think is this place?" whispered Harry, and moved closer to the walls. There were openings in those walls, hundreds of stone shelves, their purpose immediately clear. The light of his wand revealed many wooden and stone sarcophagi, lining the walls in a morbid display.

"Looks like we're in the catacombs," replied Tom. He pointed to a broken coffin, the preservation charms on it only recently disturbed. "And it seems like we've found the source of the smell."

"That's horrible! Do you think that the goblins did this?"

"I don't know why they would, the body isn't eaten or anything. Wasn't there a small earthquake, right before the school year started?"

"And right around the time when the goblins arrived in Diagon," pointed out Harry. "But, it's not like Diagon was damaged. At most, it broke windows."

Their musings were suddenly interrupted by a guttural battle cry, nearly wholly animalistic in nature. One of the Deepdwellers snuck up right behind them, and was now charging in, an oversized sabre grasped between its claws. Tom was the quicker to react, and summoned a blinding lighting flash, which briefly dazed the gray goblin. This gave Tom the opportunity to aim his wand, and tightly bind their attacker.

"Did you have to do that?" complained Harry, rubbing his eyes. "I can't see anything."

The creature was writhing on the floor, even more terrifying than Harry had imagined. Inside the mouth of the goblin, what seemed like thousands of needle-like teeth, were constantly gnashing in a horrible expression of rabid anger. However, its black eyes were studying them calmly, calculating.

"Take us to your leader," said Tom to the Deepdweller, but the creature only bared its teeth.

"We're not here to hurt you, we just want to reach a peaceful solution to this conflict," added Harry, and this time the goblin tried to spit in his face.

"Don't ever do that again, monster." Tom threateningly directed his wand at it. "Why did you disturb the dead?"

"Not us. The earth shook, now rotten humans for all to see."

"Why did the earth shake?" Tom asked, but the goblin made no response. "Despite what you might think of us, we're not part of the angry mob that attacked you. Also, we have our reasons to believe that today's events were orchestrated by Gringotts. It was they who tried to slaughter you all, and not even by their own hands, but with hired thugs."

"A clan never attacks another clan, not even by other's hands. But I smell no deceit on your breath, human…"

"Nobody knows that it was Gringotts behind all of this," said Harry. "We're the only ones who suspect it, they have been stirring up the people against you for weeks. Also, some of the Wizards were undoubtedly hired to attack you – why do you think the fight up top was so organized? Why haven't they broke ranks on the first sign of trouble?"

The goblin was clearly thinking over those words, and so Harry continued, "But, even if you believe us, and act against Gringotts - Britain would become your enemy. You need to get the truth out there, and to do that, you need Wizards on your side."

"You? Ghak," the grey goblin spoke some words in its gargling language. "Agreed. Gurglish will take you to the Elders. No promises you ever come back."

They untied the being, which quickly stood up on its wonky legs, and shambled away into the darkness. Tom kept his wand trained on it, as the goblin was still holding a long saber in its hand. It looked over its shoulder, letting out a gurgling laugh at the wands, and sheathed the weapon. However, they were still following it wearily, expecting either an ambush, or for it to take off into the darkness.

Gurglish took them along narrow, labyrinthine passages, which only a goblin could navigate with such confidence. The catacombs lying beneath Magical London spanned dozens of miles, being continuously added upon ever since the time of the Roman Empire. While the high water saturation prevented Muggles from digging down, Wizards had no such problem. Magical London, to solve the problem of the expanding cemeteries during the eighteenth century, filled the underground with tens of thousands of their dead.

Most of them were nothing more than pale bones now, there were also some fresher deceased, preserved by various spells and enchantments. These enchantments were badly disturbed a few months ago, which caused the bodies to slowly putrefy, and now the sickly sweet smell of death filled the tunnels. Both Harry and Tom protected themselves from breathing it in, but Harry still vividly remembered how indescribably foul and horrifying it was.

* * *

"What is that?" asked Harry, upon hearing a loud, reverberating sound. "Another earthquake?"

They stopped, and Gurglish's bat-ears spread wide open, trying to identify the noise. It did in fact feel as if the ground was shaking. Then, the goblin spat, "Intruders! Gurglish can hear both human and goblin – must be the Gringotts scum."

The goblin took off into the darkness, with Harry and Tom sprinting after it. Before they could even prepare themselves, the intruders were already through, having drilled past a catacomb wall. An explosion tore through the brick and stone, filling the air with dust and debris. Seeing a light shining through all of this, Harry followed Tom in extinguishing his wand, and they hid in the darkness. Dust filled the area, and Harry quickly lost sight of his companions, and jumped under the invisibility cloak.

Soon, five masked Wizards came out of the hole, wands in hand, carefully checking every corner. Harry didn't see any Auror insignia – these were hired thugs, and sure enough, their Gringotts master was right behind them. When they were passing nearby, Harry spotted where Gurglish was hiding: he was hanging from the very ceiling! Right as the Gringotts goblin was passing underneath, the Deepdweller let go of the stone, and dropped right on top of him.

Horrible goblin shrieks of pain filled the tunnel, as Gurglish fell and held down his prey, sinking his teeth into the goblin's face. He simply continued biting, tearing apart the wrinkled goblin flesh, and artery alike. The Wizards were stunned at this display of animalistic brutality, but soon began firing stunners, which pushed Harry into action. He jumped from underneath his cloak and cast the strongest _Protego _that he knew, shielding the Deepdweller.

This got their full attention, and now Harry had to deal with much more vicious curses, coming at him from five different sources. Tom was nowhere to be found, and the gory scene before him didn't help his concentration either. He begun magically propelling the rubble from around him into the path of the spell-fire, but even despite this, his reflexes were stretched to their limit.

Then, he saw something quite unnerving – skeletons were coming out from the darkness, dozens of them. Each one was slightly different, missing a bone or two, but all of them had an eerie green shine to their eyes. Silent, at least when compared to the sound of exploding rubble, they managed to get within arm's reach behind the Wizards.

Their cold, bone hands, gripped the hired thugs, and begun holding them in place. The Wizards struggled briefly, blowing apart a skeleton or two, but they had no way to defend themselves against the inhuman strength of the undead. Harry took this perfect opportunity to disarm, and stun the Wizards one by one.

"What the hell?" shouted exhausted Harry. "Inferi?"

"No, just simple animated skeletons," replied Tom, coming out of the darkness. "With the amount of raw material here, I just couldn't help myself."

Their conversation was stopped short, when they saw the bloodied face of Gurglish, who was picking himself up from the half-eaten goblin carcass below him.

"Gringotts will pay. No more peace between the clans."

"Don't even think about it," said Harry, when the Deepdweller started approaching the fallen Wizards.

"Your prize not mine, will not touch it," replied the goblin.

"Should we interrogate them?" asked Harry, trying not to look at the remains of the goblin.

"No, there's no time," replied Tom. "More of them could show up any minute. Although, I guess we should take one of them with us."

After taking his prisoner, Tom went to check on the hole through which the goblins busted through. Harry followed him, and they saw a huge drilling machine, surprisingly complex in its design. At the front it had gigantic metal blades, taller than a man, propelled by a steam engine at its back. There was also a strange hydraulic mechanism right next to it, brass pipes run along the ground. After a brief walk through this freshly dug tunnel, they found themselves over the gaping chasm of the Gringotts vaults.

While they couldn't see any goblins nearby, the unmistakable noise of more drilling machines could be heard from the distance. With the surface being held by Aurors, the Deepdwellers now had nowhere to go, and Gringotts was taking full advantage of this situation. Their intentions could be to simply throw the Deepdwellers out, but Harry feared the worst – perhaps they aimed to wipe them all out.

"We should collapse this tunnel," Harry suggested. "But leave the Wizards, along with the remains of the goblin, outside. It's only proper."

Short while later, they brought down the ceiling, burying the tunnel under a pile of rubble. Now, begun their race against time – they had to reach the Deepdwellers before Gringotts did, stop the bloodshed if possible. Drills rung in the distance, making Harry's heart pump even faster, and they were running after Gurglish into the depths.

Worst part of it, Harry thought, was that they stumbled into a middle of a conflict that they knew very little about. While Gringotts' underhanded and murderous plans were certainly detestable, the Deepdweller that they met was a ruthless and bloodthirsty individual, who brutally killed another goblin right before their eyes. Harry focused on the fact that it wasn't the Deepdwellers who have chosen this bloody path, that it was Gringotts who decided to stop their peaceful protest by force. What was the true reason behind this hostility, only the goblins themselves knew.

* * *

As they got deeper underground, the sounds of the drills got more and more distant. Surprisingly, they didn't run into any more Wizards. Soon, they could breathe again, no new dead were buried this deep. However, they also noticed how the air changed from being dry, to being very damp. Trickles of water run down the walls, at one point they came up to a chamber filled waist-high with muddy water and bones.

"This was not here before," Gurglish said. "Nearly there, Wizards. Hide your wands."

After wading through it, they finally reached the Deepdwellers. Heavily armored guards surrounded them, encased in a black armor of exotic make, resembling chitin of some gigantic beetle. Many spears pointed at Harry, which lowered somewhat when Gurglish begun speaking. The goblin language possessed many sounds not heard in anything Harry was familiar with, he couldn't even discern when the words begun or ended.

They were prodded inside, led along a corridor into the goblin dwellings, dragging their prisoner behind them. Thankfully, the Deepdwellers didn't live in total darkness. Strange blue lights lined the walls, not mechanical, but organic looking. This was the theme with most things that they saw - where Gringotts used clever metallurgy, the Deepdwellers used what looked like parts of strange underground creatures.

Gurglish alone had a metal sabre, and was wearing just ordinary chainmail. Harry suspected that this was because he was assigned to the surface, and the Deepdwellers didn't want to showcase their treasures for all the Wizards to see. Or, perhaps these underground artifacts disintegrated in the sunlight, faded to nothing like bad dreams?

Speaking of nightmares, Harry was suddenly shaken out of his musings by what was before him. They entered what seemed like a main hall, completely filled with the grey goblins. Their alien body shapes stood out from the darkness, he saw flashes of eyes, and light reflecting from their needle-like teeth. At the end of a long line of goblins dressed in their black bug armor, stood three shapes, larger than the rest. As tall as a man, there were also quite plump, and covered head-to-toe in gold.

Gurglish bowed before them, and they spoke in their gurgling language. During certain parts of their conversation, the crowd of goblins made terrible noises, weird shrieks and gnashings of teeth. Gurglish took out an ear of the goblin he killed earlier, and presented it to the elders. They hit their golden staffs against the ground, and the others echoed them, filling the chamber with deafening noise. After a long moment, those noises ceased, and the central figure addressed the two Wizards.

"We must thank you for your actions," the central gray goblin spoke in surprisingly verbose English, but it was apparent that the words felt unfamiliar in his mouth. "Without them, we might not have known the truth until it was too late. I am Gorlak, the Chief Elder of the Deepdweller clan. Who are you?"

"My name is Tom Riddle, and this is Harry Potter," Tom took the lead. "We are Hogwarts students."

"Hogwarts? Has Dumbledore sent you here? We have received many letters from that Wizard, but his intentions were never clear to us."

"No, we came here of our own will. When we heard about the riots, we knew that our suspicions were correct, and we had to do something."

"And yet, you waited until the very last moment… Truth be told, we would not have listened to you any sooner. But why have you acted at all? Pure altruism? It is a mystery."

"Forgive my question," spoke up Harry. "But may I ask where have you learned such good English? It is surprisingly good."

"Our relations with Gringotts weren't always so hostile, there was a time when we were close allies. It is from them that I have learned the human language, and I have studied many a book about the surface. Truth be told, I still indulge in this fancy. Alas, over the course of my lifetime, we have grown more and more apart. Gringotts was once made up of many goblin clans, now they stand under a single banner. They have lost their past traditions, now they only follow their greed, hording gold for the humans."

Gorlak was then nudged by one of the other elders, seemingly in order to hurry him up, "Ah, yes, back to the present. From what Gurglish told me, we are to expect an attack. Also, because of the reckless Gringotts drilling, we are also dealing with many leaks - water is rushing in, and we are powerless to stop it. Will you stand with us against Gringotts? I promise you will be richly rewarded."

"You said that the water is rushing in," said Tom. "We have heard much drilling, but if it were an attack, I believe we would have already faced some opposition. Also, nobody followed us from up top. I believe that just as Gringotts have used Wizards to attack you on the surface, they will use water to drown you underground."

"Then we shall have to attack ourselves. It is the only option."

"Actually, there is another way. I could prepare a Portkey - a magical device that could get us all out of here. We would simply reappear somewhere else, completely bypassing the space in-between."

"Run? Where to? Everywhere we go, we would need to face Wizards on the surface. Not to mention the tyranny of the sun."

"There are quite extensive caves around Hogwarts, they were once used during the Gringotts-Wizard war of 1612. You could go there, and nobody would ever find you."

"Dumbledore will surely help you," added Harry. "We could expose the truth about what Gringotts has done, and then the whole of Britain will be on your side."

The Elders begun talking amongst themselves, and after a quite long exchange Gorlak finally spoke, "Agreed. Do your Magic."

Tom looked around him, and grabbed a spear from a nearby goblin, who only let go after being instructed by Gorlak. Then, Tom whispered the incantation "Portus", turning the weapon into a Portkey. There was still the matter of transporting everyone at once, which Tom solved by conjuring a very long rope, and tying it to the spear.

"Will this work for all of them?" whispered Harry as the goblins were not only grabbing a hold of the rope, but also stockpiling all of their possessions. "Wouldn't it be safer to transport a few goblins at a time?"

"The Ministry would notice that many departures in the middle of the night, especially from right below a crime scene. Eventually, they would find out where we went. If we do this once but proper, we will fry their sensors."

The grey goblins filled the chamber to its limit, passing the rope among themselves, also tying it around their supplies. Harry noticed that there weren't any women or children with them, just male warriors and miners. Once they were all in place, Tom tapped the spear with his wand once more, and they disappeared, tearing a gigantic hole in the very space itself.

The Portkey dropped them right in the middle of a forest, most of the travelers losing their balance after the violent journey. Harry picked himself up from the grass, and looked around, but save for the cool wind, all that he perceived was only darkness. He looked up, making sure that they were really on the surface – and sure enough, the bright stars of the Milky Way shone right above him, a very comforting sight.

The Deepdwellers around him were similarly gazing up, their black eyes wide open. Was this the first time that some of them have even seen stars? After this brief moment of wonder, the Chief Elder shuffled towards them.

"Are we near the caves, Tom Riddle?" he asked.

"I can't see much in this dark, but we should be right at the entrance."

Tom lit his wand, and led this strange procession towards the nearby caves. If any Wizard were to stumble upon them, they would surely tell tales of boogeymen until the very end of their lives. That is, if they didn't lose their sanity first.

* * *

With the grey goblins safely hidden away, Tom and Harry were left with their unconscious Wizard prisoner. They spoke with Gorlak, and the goblin agreed to take Albus Dumbledore into their confidence. The Chief Elder was reluctant at first, but Harry convinced him that only Dumbledore had the legal power and authority among Wizards to stand against Gringotts. Now, Harry send his Patronus to the Headmaster, and they were patiently waiting for him in the dark.

Red and yellow flames flashed before them, and Albus Dumbledore appeared with the Phoenix on his shoulder.

"Good evening, boys. I have to say that I haven't received such a strange message in many, many years. Now, will you explain to me what are you doing not only out of bed, but also outside Hogwarts at this very late hour?"

While it was clear that the Headmaster was only half-serious, Harry hurriedly explained to him all that had happened, now suddenly aware of how much detention he could end up serving. Dumbledore listened to him with great interest, and directed quite a few questions to the both them.

"This is a most intriguing tale. While you have broken quite a few school rules, the sheer level of selfless initiative that the both of you have shown, far outshines that. Especially you, Tom. I admit, I was unsure about you the last time that we spoke, but I see my doubts were completely unfounded. Boys, not only have you exposed the truth, but also saved the lives of many innocent beings.

"Yes, despite their scary to us appearance, we have to assume their innocence until proven otherwise. I believe, that you might be the first humans to ever have such positive relations with the Deepdwellers. Our future relationship with the goblins rests on your shoulders. This is not an overstatement - Gringotts, who we used to rely on completely, were caught in their despicable act. It might be time for a change in the very way that the Magical Britain functions.

"Many will not believe the witness that you have caught today, they will not want to upset the goblins. It is true that they hold our gold, and that Britain is experiencing a recession. But we can't shield murderers, it would be too short sighted and immoral to not give the Deepdwellers the justice that they deserve. Perhaps, there will even come a time when we will need to hide below the surface ourselves?"

"Professor, are you talking about the recent nuclear crisis?" asked Harry.

"Yes. While I believe in the good nature of all men, their fundamental love of peace and compassion – there is always a chance that things will go wrong. And they very nearly did just a few days ago. But, let us not dwell on these grim thoughts. You have done a great deed today, and are undoubtedly very tired and sore from this ordeal. Let us get back to Hogwarts."


	11. The Secrets of the Elders

Next morning, after a few short hours of sleep, Tom dragged himself to the Great Hall for breakfast. As he walked in, he was greeted by a flurry of owls delivering the usual morning post. This made getting to his seat a little bit more challenging, as he had to avoid the swooping birds.

He eventually took an empty seat, and poured himself some coffee. Just as Tom expected, his fellow Slytherins were focused on the yesterday's events.

"Lots of injured, a few dead," said Lestrange. "Goddamn goblins. Looks like Gringotts is open for business once again."

"For now," added Tom.

"What do you mean?" Lestrange raised an eyebrow at his comment.

"Let's just say that I'm aware of certain facts, and once they come to light, Gringotts will be forced to shut down. The goblins have committed crimes, and this will be the perfect opportunity for the Wizard-kind to take full control over their own banking."

"If this is true," said Lucius, "it is stupendous news. Imagine a banking system with no usury, no special fees, no inflation. We'll be one of the few countries without goblin-controlled banks. I always found it funny how these countries have all mysteriously escaped all the financial troubles in the recent years."

"What has Gringotts done, Tom?" asked Lestrange. "And how do you know, can you tell us?"

"I was there," Tom leaned forward, and replied. "They are the ones who have orchestrated the riots, and done other… murderous deeds. Don't you find it strange, how the protesting goblins have just decided to pack up an go after all this time? It's no coincidence."

"Incredible," replied Lucius. "And it makes total sense. But, if the goblins really are as detestable as they look, they will not go quietly. We're in for another goblin rebellion – just what I was itching for! The prospect of this future conflict is already making me shudder with excitement."

"Calm down, Malfoy," rolled his eyes Lestrange. "Are you going to drop out of Hogwarts?"

"Why not? I can sign up now, and take the N.E.W.T.s when the war is over. The fee is just a few galleons, if I remember right. But, a chance like this is once in a lifetime."

"Will it even come to a war, though?" continued Lestrange. "Our chicken-shit Ministry will probably bury any goblin crimes under a mountain of propaganda. With the goblins holding all their gold, they won't dare to do anything."

"We have an unlikely ally, who will make sure that Gringotts will face justice," said Tom. "Dumbledore."

"Brilliant," laughed Lucius. "He might stir up the entire International Confederation of Wizards against Gringotts. Knowing him, he will try for a peaceful solution, but the goblins don't do peaceful - especially when somebody is threatening their gold. Just the right push in the Wizengamot, and there will be conflict. I have to write my father about this."

"Go right ahead, of course don't mention that I was there… the game hasn't played out in full yet. Let's not tip Gringotts our hand. Just make sure that the right people are ready to act."

* * *

Tom and Harry stood up from their tables at almost the exact same time, with the same need to talk over the yesterday's events. The respect they had for one another grew because of them – Tom was reminded that Harry had the guts to do what is necessary, while Harry was overjoyed that Tom did something undeniably good.

"How are you doing after our little trip to Diagon?" asked Tom.

"Little trip? The shit that we've seen was the stuff of nightmares! Hogwarts really does shelter you from the real world. Although, I guess it ended happily enough."

"True, we've gotten a real glimpse into the dark underbelly of our world. Who would have thought, that such strange creatures could dwell just underneath our feet?"

"And, we've made some really weird friends, just looking at them could make half this castle run away in panic," laughed Harry. "I do hope that they will get their justice, and won't fall victims to prejudice, just because of their unusual appearance."

"The future could play out in a myriad of ways. There will be people who are too afraid to act, but others are just itching for conflict. I believe that these events shall serve as a catalyst for the change that Britain really needs."

"I too hope that we will pick ourselves up, but we can't just go to war with Gringotts. As far as moving our money elsewhere, until the Deepdwellers get their justice? I think that might be reasonable."

"We still don't have the whole story," Tom said. "What do you say, should we pay our new neighbors a visit?"

"Skip class?" Harry furrowed his brow. "Eh, to hell with it. DADA's next, and Merrythought never checks the list. Let's go."

They didn't get far, as almost immediately another student approached them.

"Hey, Harry?" said Remus Lupin. He had even worse bags under his eyes than the both of them, and his face bore a few thin scratches. "Got a second?"

"Not now, Moony. Sorry, I have something to do, oh, and I won't make it for Defense. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Sneaking out again?" Remus looked wearily at Tom. "Whatever."

They left him for Hogsmeade, using the secret passageway leading into Honey Dukes, as it allowed them to bypass the closed Hogwarts gates. They emerged in the dark storeroom below the shop, and draped the invisibility cloak over themselves, to avoid the staff.

"What's up with Lupin?" asked Tom as they left the shop for the cold outdoors. He was aware of the lycanthropy, but kept that he knew their secret to himself.

"It's probably nothing… I haven't told anyone about yesterday yet. He might think that something's up."

"It's good that you haven't, I haven't told anyone either," lied Tom. "It is dangerous knowledge, you would be putting yourself and them into risk. If Gringotts knew that we know, they might take drastic measures."

"I haven't thought about that," Harry paled slightly. "It's probably best to wait until Dumbledore decides on what to do. I'll keep quiet until I have a chance to testify."

They left Hogsmeade behind, and put away the invisibility cloak, as they were safely hidden in the wilderness. The Hogsmeade forest was less dark, but still quite untamed. They walked on the frozen ground, where thin patches of ice covered the shallow puddles of water.

The caves were hidden away some distance from the town, the knowledge of their existence unknown even to locals. It was due to the superstitious nature of the townsfolk, who thought the forest to be just as cursed as the Shrieking Shack. If they ever went hiking, it was in the opposite direction.

The entrance seemed unnaturally dark when compared to the surroundings, a pitch black hole which stimulated the imagination in all the wrong ways. Nevertheless, they stepped inside, lighting the way with their wands.

"Tom Riddle, Harry Potter," they were immediately greeted by the colorless face of Gurglish. "We saw you approach from far away. Welcome."

"I see that the caves serve you well?" said Harry. "Especially since you have such a good view of any visitors."

"Yes. A lot of space. Not like the tombs." Then gray goblin grimaced, and spat out, "I hate the sun, but must keep watch."

"You hate the sun?" Harry made an incredulous impression, and the goblin nodded.

"Burns the eyes, burns the skin. Brighter here than in London."

"We have come to see Gorlak," interrupted Tom. "Take us to him."

"If he'll see us," quickly added Harry. "We don't want to impose."

"He will. Follow me, Wizards."

* * *

The Deepdwellers have brought with them nearly all of their subterranean curiosities, which just like them, seemed to have evolved in the darkest bowels of the earth. Upon closer inspection, their blue lamps were actually weird globular organisms. Similar in appearance to sea urchins, they were stuck to the rock, digesting it slowly, and in the process exhibiting this blue bioluminescence.

The goblins have also brought a few strange insectoids with them, much larger than the laws of physics would allow. They kept some of them in pens, and much like chickens, they harvested the young larva spawned by those creatures. Instead of cats, gigantic spiders run along the rocks on their long, spindly legs. As Tom was passing underneath one, he spotted a rat stuck in the web above him.

This scene would be almost normal, human, if it were not for the unnerving appearance of it all. The underground evolution run along quite different lines than on the surface, molded by the lack of light, and indifferent to its visual aspects. Nevertheless, if one looked past the horrifying shapes, it was strangely heartwarming to see the similarities.

Gurglish led them into a small chamber, what looked like a study, despite the unusual make of the furniture. There was even a bookshelf, filled with both Wizard and Muggle literature. This was unmistakably the current residence of the Chief Elder.

"Greetings, Wizards." Gorlak spread his arms in welcome, "Have you brought me news from the surface?"

"The world doesn't know the truth, just as we expected," replied Tom. "You remain hidden, Gringotts remains unpunished."

"I do have the morning paper with me, if you want to take a look," added helpfully Harry.

He handed him the Prophet out of his bag, which the Elder grabbed with his long claws, putting on a pair of golden spectacles to read. Rest of his large, overweight body, was also richly covered in gold. Diamonds were draped across his neck, and they also hung from his ears.

They waited as Gorlak scanned the paper, at times grunting, or exposing his unnerving collection of teeth. Eventually, he threw it onto his desk, disgusted.

"Gringotts plays victims," he gargled. "What is this Dumbledore doing? Is he to be trusted?"

"Of course," replied Harry. "He always stood on the side of what is right and good. I haven't seen him in the castle this morning, undoubtedly he is rallying Wizards to your cause."

"He came here after you left, asking questions. We were busy with the caves, but I did meet with him. Strange human, and that fiery bird of his. All birds are exotic to us, but it looked even more… unusual."

"Have you found the caves to your liking?" inquired Harry. "I hope that Tom made the right choice."

"Yes, it is good enough. Goblins have already lived here, centuries ago, their tunnels still stand. Many from the surface clans died here, their bones remained amongst the rocks. We have traded one tomb for another."

"Can I ask you about your dispute with Gringotts?" asked Tom. "How it all started?"

"You may. But where are my manners? Come guests, come," Gorlak lead them into an adjacent room, which looked like a small dining chamber. "The other Elders are busy elsewhere, I'm sure they won't mind you taking their seats."

Bizarre foods were placed in the golden vessels along the table, what looked like fried insects, and eggs of unknown origin. The chairs Harry and Tom took were somehow the right size for them, as the Elders were unusually larger than their brethren.

"Wood, plentiful on the surface, but a priceless artifact down below," said Gorlak, tapping his claws against the table. "Although, some fear anything from the surface, just as you fear us. I see the looks in your eyes, but I don't blame you, these are the same looks that the Deepdwellers give to you humans."

"If I may be so bold, I think that I see your fascination with us humans - and I'm beginning to feel the same interest," said Tom. "Let me ask again, how has this recent conflict started?"

"We were far away from out home, mining for precious metals near the surface, when the earthquake came," Gorlak begun, but was interrupted by Tom.

"What caused the earthquake?"

"The Earth is capricious," Gorlak looked at him strangely. "I do not know it's designs. Sometimes, it shakes. These shakes are much more destructive on the surface, in the underground we barely feel them, just like one doesn't feel the storm at the bottom of the ocean."

"There's more of the Deepdweller clan underground?"

"Entire cities, hidden in the depths, chiseled out of stone. No human could ever hope to imagine the splendor of our golden pyramids, our emerald streets, the forests of crystal. Perhaps, we will never see it again ourselves, for the earthquake collapsed our tunnels, all the secret passageways leading into our capital.

"This is why we were forced to camp at the Gringotts gates, like beggars – for they have refused to help us. But, not only have they declined to share their tools, they forbade us from digging ourselves! By ancient agreement their word is law on the surface, and so we had no choice but to obey.

"The only option was to somehow force them to change their mind. We blocked their laughable bank, a complete joke when compared to our subterranean might. Unable to do anything else, all we could do was to wait. There is still a chance that our brethren will reach us, but because of their distaste for the surface, they might just leave us to rot."

Gorlak's hands were clenched into fists, his features were contorted in anger, and his eyes just stared into the distance. Uneasy silence descended upon the room, and it remained unbroken for some time.

"Is there any reason for why Gringotts is so hostile?" asked Harry. "Surely, letting you return to your homes would be much easier than orchestrating your deaths."

"They are envious of our splendor, of our independence. Underground, we are the sole rulers of our own kingdom, free from humans. But Gringotts exists simply because you allow it to – conquer them, and your control over the surface will be complete, just as our reign over the depths!

"Let me share a secret with you, that only the Elders know. I have read in one of your books about the evolution of man, and your victory over the Neanderthal. We know of similar legends, but we did not kill our cousins - we subjugated them.

"Notice, how we Elders are bigger, taller than the others. Goblins think, that once in a while, one of them is marked and grows to become an Elder. But, that is false – we are utterly different, a goblin can never become one of us. They are servants, and we are kings.

"In this, we are very alike, you humans and us. You simply have forgotten to discipline your servants. Let them mine your gold, but don't let them keep it! It is yours by right. Tell this Dumbledore to wage war against Gringotts.

"I look at you, and I see rulers, conquerors, same as us. I believe, that we might even share common ancestors. Once, when we all lived in caves, we were brothers. But, we have felt the call of the depths, while you remained in love with the sun. The goblins are lesser creatures, our servants."

As they looked at Gorlak now, they begun noticing certain differences in his features, unseen in the other Deepdwellers. The structure of his face was different, more oval, more… human. His eyes were dark but still familiar, his ears were much smaller than a goblin's, and one could spot a few black hairs on the top of his scalp. Was his skin really so gray, or was it just covered in ash?

Both Tom and Harry looked slightly horrified, although for vastly different reasons. While Harry was disturbed by how the Elders have subjugated others, Tom was disgusted by having any relation to this monster, no matter how distant.

"What if," Harry said defiantly, "We tell the goblins of your dark secret? They have the right to know, the right to rule themselves."

"They? The right to rule?" laughed Gorlak. "Even if you told them, none would believe you. It would be an insult, a heresy. Just try it, you will end up with a spear through your heart, and even I won't be able to protect you!"

"Harry meant no disrespect," placated him Tom. "We don't know how your culture works, it would be foolish to upset a structure that withstood thousands of years. If you weren't good leaders, the Deepdwellers would have surley all perished by now, or rebelled."

"Wise words human," Gorlak puffed up his chest. "No offense taken, this one clearly still needs to learn much. Now, I must bid you farewell, Wizards. I have still many duties to take care of."

Harry grumbled under his breath, but said nothing. They quickly left the murky caves, and went on their way back to Hogsmeade.

* * *

"Do you actually think that he is right?" accused Harry, as they were walking back through the forest.

"Of course not, he's delusional," replied Tom. "It's as if an amoeba compared itself to a human, total nonsense."

"What are you even talking about? They have subjugated goblins for thousands of years! Surely, you haven't meant what you said back there."

"Oh, I said it to stop us from getting killed. We can't actually do anything about it, at least not now – Dumbledore will tell you the same thing."

"But they have the right to know, their whole society is based on lies."

"Is it that much different from our hereditary Wizengamot seats? Rulers are always self-serving, even if they try to pretend otherwise. In the monarchies of the past, kings were supposedly divinely ordained, serving a higher power. Then people found out that the monarchs served nothing but themselves, and overthrew them in a series of bloody revolutions.

"Now, we have a new myth: serving the people. While more sophisticated, it is still a falsehood - do not believe these lies! We elect the Minister of Magic, who hides their egoism behind a political campaign. But, as soon as they get into office, they start showing their true colors, and do whatever it takes not to upset the status quo."

"But they aren't a whole different species from us!"

"Telling the goblins that the Elders are a whole different species might just straighten their claim. They already think that the Elders are supernaturally marked, that they are destined to rule. However, we still know very little about their strange brand of monarchy. Maybe the goblins do get their own say in things?

"This small party is lead by the Elders, but this might not be the usual state of affairs – they are on the surface, it's an emergency. Like in ancient Rome, they need a dictator simply to survive. Undermine that, and they're lost."

"I still don't like it," shook his head Harry. "They deserve to be free, but I guess for now, you're right. They simply need to survive."

* * *

In the evening, Harry and Tom were summoned by the Headmaster into his office. When they stepped out of the spiral staircase, they were unexpectedly greeted by two Wizards, in the official Auror robes. Weary at this sight, they slowed down as they walked into the room.

"Welcome, Tom, Harry," greeted them Dumbledore. "Auror Dawlish and Kingsley are here to collect your statements. They are very curious as to any criminal activity that was allegedly committed by Gringotts. I understand that you don't have any idea about where the Deepdwellers have disappeared to, but we can't fault you for that."

Harry and Tom exchanged glances - was Dumbledore telling them to lie? However, the Aurors looked more curious than hostile, and have asked them easy enough questions. Harry and Tom told them of what they saw in the fog, how they descended into the catacombs, and about the drilling machines of Gringotts.

Then, the Aurors inquired about the murder of the Gringotts goblin. In the end, Tom told that they disapparated once the water started flooding in, and that the Deepdwellers run off somewhere into the tunnels. Harry obviously confirmed Tom's story, and the Aurors said their farewells, and floo'ed back to the Ministry.

"Interesting story, but you have omitted your heroic part in all of this," Dumbledore smiled at them from over his spectacles. "You shouldn't have worried so much, boys - Dawlish and Kingsley are my friends. They know that this is a delicate matter, that the Deepdwellers have a right to privacy. Although, I guess possession of an unregistered Portkey is in fact a crime."

"What will happen now, Professor?" asked him Tom. "Will Gringotts be put under investigation?"

"I have spent nearly all of my time since we last saw each other meeting with various officials, along with the Minister of Magic," Dumbledore looked tired indeed. "So far, the Auror Department is collecting evidence, trying to mount a case. It is a slow process, but the Minister was receptive to the matter."

"Sir, will the Gringotts Bank be shut down?"

"Right now, the Minister is proposing to impose certain fines on them, for example to reimburse all of the injured Wizards, all the damaged property. The destruction of the catacombs will certainly make a lot of Wizards angry, even dangerously so. Personally, I think the guilty should be brought to justice, but it will be a slow process. For now, only the Wizards who participated in the riot are jailed."

"Professor, there is something else that you need to know," said Harry. He told Dumbledore of their recent visit to the caves, and about the terrible secret that the Chief Elder had shared with them. The Headmaster's face grew longer as he listened, as he was reminded of what he had fought against not so long ago.

"This is sad news indeed. I have seen something disturbing in this Gorlak, even more so than his appearance. Something has left a mark on him, be it dark deeds, or even darker magic. That they deceive the goblins, and lord over them with lies, is quite detestable."

"What shall we do, Professor? Surely we need to stop this."

"The bitter truth is that we can't do anything," the Headmaster replied. Tom gave Harry a look, which clearly meant 'I told you so'. "At least not right now. This battle is not only for the few Deepdwellers on the surface, but all of them in their underground cities, who have been lied to for generations. We need to reach them first, and that will probably take years, if it ever happens."

"What should we tell the Chief Elder?" asked Tom.

"You shall tell him nothing," the Headmaster looked serious. "I have let you boys slip out of school too many times. It is simply much too dangerous, who knows what this Gorlak character is really capable of. I forbid you from seeking him out on your own."

"But-," Dumbledore raised his palm, interrupting Harry.

"I am your Headmaster, and I'm responsible for your well being, at least while you're under my roof," Dumbledore's features softened. "I understand that you care, that you want to act, but I hope you are mature enough to respect my authority. I will personally negotiate with the goblins, but if your help and expertise is ever needed, I will not hesitate to call upon you.

"Perhaps you have earned their trust, and even made the Chief Elder overshare his secrets with you. However, right now we need to focus on our own politics, on our own relations with Gringotts. In this, I believe that I am an expert. Once this matter is settled, we can focus on the Deepdwellers.

"For now, enjoy being students, and study for your N.E.W.T.s! You might think that the school year has just barely started, but winter will quickly come, and you will soon wonder what happened to all the time that you had. Know that I am proud of what the both of you have accomplished, and not just yesterday.

"Now, let us hurry for the supper - I hear that the House Elves have prepared quite a feast tonight."

* * *

Just as the Headmaster decreed, they have not ventured outside of Hogwarts, into the Hogsmeade caves. Most of November passed uneventfully, with no new developments from the goblins, and slow progress in the Auror investigation.

The public was still unaware of any wrong-doing, quickly forgetting the riots, glad at finally being able to freely use the Bank. The goblins have once again prospered in this new situation, making their money back in loans.

It was only by the end of the month, that Tom received some news, a letter from Burkes. Hepzibah's inheritance finally found its way into her grandson's hands, complete with the Locket of Salazar Slytherin himself. And just as Burkes predicted, her grandson was quite eager to liquidate his new belongings.

When Tom looked at the sum that was quoted by Burkes for the Locket, he dropped the letter in shock. He was preparing himself for the worst, and making money hand over fist, but what he had was still far from enough.

According to Burkes, he had about a month until other collectors would find out about the item – and Burkes wasn't doing this for free. It was time to take more drastic measures.


	12. The Hunt

The headline "_LONDON CATACOMBS DEMOLISHED – GRINGOTTS TO BLAME" _was what occupied the front page of the Prophet on the 1st of December. Little over a month after the actual event, the hidden truth behind the riots finally leaked to the press.

The Prophet reported how a certain pureblood (who decided to remain anonymous) set out to pay respects to his forebearers, but instead stumbled upon a scene of horrific devastation. The paper described how he tried to report this to the authorities, but his pleas fell on deaf ears, and so he had no other option but to seek answers for himself. Prophet published his anonymous account, in which he described his findings – an extraordinary tale, which detailed how Gringotts was behind it all.

The Ministry had no other option, but to confirm the rumors. While the public certainly held no love for the goblins, the news have caused an unprecedented outrage. The destruction of such a historic site, along with the desecration of the dead, was just the icing on the cake. The Ministry also confirmed how Gringotts has orchestrated public unrest (which resulted in death and injury of several wizards), plotted murder of other goblins, and then manipulated the public opinion to elicit sympathy.

Even though that the catacombs have mostly fallen out of usage in the recent times, now people were tracing their genealogy and trying to find any ancestors that might have been buried there. Some were already drafting legal letters, demanding reparations in gold.

Fearful for their lives, the goblins retreated deep into their bank. When they saw clients, it was done in the constant presence of both goblin and Auror guards. This was at a suggestion from Dumbledore himself, who was trying to prevent bloodshed, while at the same time demanding of Gringotts leadership to submit to justice.

Currently things were at a standstill, as clearly the current goblin leaders played a major part in the scandal. If they decided to close their doors, cutting people off from their gold, most of Britain could become paralyzed. It was quite the diplomatic balancing act, as it now seemed that the Wizarding World stood on the brink of a goblin rebellion.

* * *

Great many Slytherins were gathered in the Room of Requirement, waiting, wands in hand. Then, the one who they were expecting finally entered the room: Tom Riddle. He briskly walked past them, onto a slightly raised section of the floor, a podium of a sorts. He proceeded to scan his audience, pleased at seeing anticipation on their faces.

"Put away your wands," said Tom. "There will be no foolish wand-waving here. If you are so inept that you can't learn a few spells on your own, or how to 'duel', even I won't be able to help you. Yes, that's right, I doubt that we will learn even a single spell during those meetings. Training is irrelevant, it is your will that you should hone."

Some faces were looking a bit dejected, while others, like that of Snape, were fully focused on his words. Tom continued, "Can any of you tell me, what do you think that Magic is?"

"Magic is power, unlimited energy," people perked up at the question, but it was Regulus who spoke up first. "It's what makes us wizards, and not a lesser being like a Muggle."

"Partially correct, but ultimately a confused answer," sighed Tom. "Magic is the art, and the craft, of causing change in accordance with your will, your Spirit. What we learn in this school is one of the many manifestations of Magic, but not in the way you're probably thinking.

"When we learned to transform a hedgehog into a pincushion, the real change we enacted wasn't on the hedgehog. We were really transmuting ourselves, shaping our own resolve and intelligence. Those foolish enough to forgo applying themselves, gained nothing. Inaction leads only to death.

"Yes, this means that even mundane acts can be called Magic, not just wand-work or ritual. However, Muggles are still fundamentally incapable of even that, for they lack Spirit; they are purely deterministic creatures. Only we have the right, and the duty to enact change!"

An approving murmur passed through the crowd, as the Slytherins were long waiting for words such as these. Tom knew that they were frustrated, and that all he needed to do was to channel this frustration into something more useful - fanaticism.

"Witch or wizard, each of you is a sovereign, free to follow their true will; wherever it might lead. Distrust anyone who tries to limit or chastise you, for they have only their own interest in mind! Why should we serve a cause alien to our own?

"The Muggleborns are trying to subvert our culture, and rule over real, pureblooded wizards – are we going to let them?" There were a few "nays" in the crowd.

"The Muggles are out of control; they are a mindless blight on our Earth. Will we just let them continue, until they turn our lands into a lifeless desert, devoid of life?" The replies from the crowd grew louder.

"The Ministry is more concerned with placating goblins, than the destruction of the tombs of our own ancestors. Is this who we want to lead us?" The crowd started answering as one now.

"The Headmaster was in on their deception from the start. The man clearly has no love for us, but only for the Gryffindors, Muggleborns and the Squibs. Is he truly fit to lead our school?" People were really getting into the chanting now.

"The Goblins sit on our gold, while they plot against us. And just look at how destitute Britain has become! Are we going to let them continue getting rich, while we grow poorer, and poorer?

"The Ministry, in its infinite wisdom, decides what we can and cannot know, what we can and cannot possess, even what spells we are allowed to cast! Are we just going to quietly obey?

"Answer me this: do you have the will to shape the world? The strength to change the tide? Or are we going to be forgotten, replaced and diluted, until Magic itself becomes just a myth of a bygone era?

"We cannot, and will not, let this happen. We must stand on the side of Magic, and fight against the encroaching mundanity of existence. This is my only cause. Are you going to make this stand with me?"

The noise from the crowd was a deafening roar now.

* * *

After the crowd finally calmed down, Tom stepped down from the podium, signaling the end of this first meeting. The decoration of the room shifted a little, a bar rose from the ground, making it more suitable for a party.

"Great speech," said Lestrange. "So, this isn't a new Slytherin study group after all."

"This was just the introduction, Alpharius," replied Tom. "A mission statement, if you will. We are going to study some things, but my main purpose is to leave a lasting impression, to grip their imagination. Let them enjoy themselves for now, and wait for my words to start taking root."

"You certainly did leave an impression, it felt like the beginning of… something. A new movement. Perhaps the future won't be so bad after all."

"Good. Dumbledore is occupied elsewhere now, and this my last year in Hogwarts, so the time for our ideas to spread has finally come. Can you gather a few of our friends for me? Lucius, Yaxley, Rosier and… no, that should be enough. Let's keep our numbers to a minimum, it'll be less conspicuous."

"On it," obediently replied Lestrange. He disappeared into the crowd, returning shortly after, those few chosen Slytherins behind him.

Tom led them out of the Room of Requirement, and they followed him closely, curious and excited after his speech. He took them into a disused classroom, then moved towards the windows - perhaps the view was why he picked this room. Tom looked out onto the dark grounds for a while, until eventually he started speaking.

"About a week ago, I've received a letter. A part of my birthright has been found, something which has very foolishly been lost, squandered around the time when I was born," Tom said, continuing to look out the window. "I can't say to you what it is, but trust me, it's important. However, there is still one mundane obstacle separating me from my destiny: money."

Lucius almost begun speaking, but Tom raised his hand, cutting him off. "This is something which I must overcome myself, it is about much more than just a few Galleons. I need to be the undisputed owner of this heirloom; I need to be worthy of it.

"And I believe that I've come up with the perfect solution. A week from now, it will be the 11th of December, and the full moon. The Forbidden Forest will be brightly lit, and our prey will be easy to spot. My friends, are you ready to go hunting?"

"Hunting for what?" wearily asked Rosier.

"A unicorn."

* * *

The moon shone brilliantly that night, eerily lighting the Forbidden Forest for even the human eye to plainly see. The trees cast long shadows, behind which covered the Slytherins. The air was chill, turning their breath into mist, but they dared not use any magic to shield themselves against the frost.

The unicorns supposedly could sense even the faintest hint of a spell, but even if that were mere superstition, Tom didn't want to put it to the test. He only had this one shot at securing enough Galleons to buy the locket, for soon Burkes would move on to his other customers.

Tom told his companions to wait, and disappeared into the darkness of the Forest to scout alone. All this standing around has made them shiver from the cold, and now they were trying to warm themselves up by smoking cigarettes.

"I don't like this, do we really have to do this during the full moon," complained Rosier. "What if there are werewolves?"

"Even though that the moon looks full," replied Lestrange, "it's actually still waxing. The Cold Moon will be tomorrow, and that's when the werewolves transform. You should read up on this stuff, it's going to be on the N.E.W.T.s."

"There aren't any werewolves in Hogwarts, even Dumbledore's not that insane," said Lucius, after quickly exhaling the cigarette smoke. "Hunting a unicorn though, that's really something. I only ever hunted deer with my father - we used bows. Still wasn't easy at all though, even with the enchantments."

"It's bad luck to hunt a Unicorn," proclaimed Rosier. "I don't like this."

"Shut up, Rosier," Yaxley rolled his eyes. "That's all superstition, tall tales made up to scare people off. Truth is, that a Unicorn is a walking heap of gold. But since we need them for wands, they had to stop the poachers somehow."

"We're not going to kill it anyway, so we're safe, right?" asked Rosier, but as if at a response to his words, they heard a noise coming towards them. "Who's there?"

"It's me," it was Tom who replied. "What the hell are you idiots doing? Smoking? You're going to spook it!"

They quickly extinguished their cigarettes, looking down at their boots, a bit ashamed at their stupidity. The smell of tobacco was quite strong, but then again Lucius hunted while smoking before, and it didn't seem to scare the deer off.

"Pull yourself together! I think I saw the unicorn - a pale light flashed between the trees, not far from here. You're lucky that the wind is blowing towards us, or it would have smelled you already. Follow me, but keep your wands in your pockets for now, I don't want any sparks."

Tom lead them forward at a brisk pace, keeping to the shadows and trying to stay on the soft, noiseless grass. The Forest grew thicker, forcing them to slow down, for being quiet was especially hard in those areas. The branches lashed them on their faces, as they couldn't even see them coming.

This continued for some time, each second stretching unbearably long, and making them lose any reliable measure of distance. All that they had to go off on was their sense of touch, and Tom's intuition. However, at last the bright sky opened up above them, signaling that they had come up onto an expansive clearing.

The Slytherins stayed low to the ground, and very slowly creeped forward, until at last they saw it. Quite some distance above them, in the middle of the glade, stood a unicorn. They stared at it transfixed, completely astonished by the sight.

Immaculate white, it was not only reflecting the pale moonlight, but also amplifying it – as if a small star fell down from the sky. The long horn on its forehead was unmistakable even from a distance, unusual and prehistoric. So far, the animal hasn't noticed anything amiss, and was just grazing peacefully.

"This is our chance," whispered Tom after they retreated a bit backwards. "Let's split up. Lucius, Lestrange – go around the clearing, and come up on top. Once you're there, scare it towards us. Understood? Don't make a sound, and take the long way around."

With them disappearing into the darkness, Tom spread Yaxley and Rosier around the bottom edge of the clearing. While they were laying down in the shadows, he crept forward until he could see the unicorn. Then he waited, wand in hand.

Tom watched the creature closely, stifling any impulse to admire its beauty – inattention could prove to be a foolish mistake. Instead, he tried to detect any hint that the unicorn knew of their presence. Tom tensed at the slightest movement from the animal, but long moments passed with it still around the same spot.

Suddenly, the unicorn straightened its head, froze and started listening – it finally sensed that something was amiss. Then it took off away from them as fast as it could, noiseless, moving perhaps even faster than a typical horse. Tom had only a split second to fire a spell, but from this distance even he missed completely.

"HEY!" he shouted in desperation, his loud voice echoing from the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. Surprisingly, this was enough to confuse the creature, which changed directions. Exhibiting intelligence not much higher than that of a deer, or perhaps in shock, it started running back towards them.

Once it got close, both Yaxley and Rosier stood up, which made the unicorn try to change direction yet again – which proved to be a fatal mistake. All three Slytherins were already taking aim, and three loud shouts of "_Incarcerous!_" rung out in the Forest. Thick ropes flew at the proud creature, binding it painfully in place, and making it helplessly collapse onto the grass.

The Forest was silent once again, save for the sounds of their pounding hearts. Tom quickly run up to the unicorn, taking out a small vial from his pocket, and started forcefully pouring it into the creature's mouth.

"What is that?" asked Yaxley.

"The Draught of Living Death," replied Tom. "Unicorns don't do well in captivity, but this will ensure the… freshness of the ingredients."

The Unicorn slowly stopped trashing, and closed its eyes – the Draught did its job. Tom stood up and took a long breath, but then remembered something.

"Where's Lestrange and Lucius?" he asked, looking around. "They should have heard us and got back here by now."

"I don't know," replied Rosier. "But, when the unicorn got spooked, I think I heard something weird. A shout, or something."

"Yaxley, guard the unicorn. Rosier, follow me," Tom said, and they started walking up to where the missing Slytherins might have gone.

While they certainly couldn't see them, they started to hear something in the distance as they moved forward. The sound of snapping branches, and of heavy breathing carried all the way to the glade. Then, the two Slytherins appeared from the darkness, their robes torn.

"There… there was a centaur," managed to get our Lestrange, while frantically gasping for air. "It's got a wand!"

While Rosier looked at him incredulously, Tom's eyes widened when he heard that. It didn't take long until the unmistakable sound of hooves came towards them. Bane burst from the forest, his Gorgon shield in one hand, and wand in the other.

"Wizards!" he shouted forcefully. "What is this - what are you doing in my Forest? Why do I hear these cries of pain? Wicked beings, know that to prey on the weak is to be cursed forever!"

"Get lost, half-breed," replied Lucius, while all their wands were trained on the centaur. "There is nothing for you here."

"I don't know who you are, but I recognize this one - Tom Riddle? Calamity seems to follow your every step," Bane said, craning his neck, trying to see past them. "I can still hear the sobbing, but it's muffled now, nearly quiet…"

"Crazed horse," continued Lucius. "There's not a sound coming from here! Where did you get that wand? Which wizard did you kill for it?"

"I warn you Bane – possession of a wand by a non-human is punishable by death," said Tom. "Forget that you saw us here, and your life will be spared - your secret safe with us. You could keep doing whatever is that you do in this Forest."

"I shall not be bribed again, nor threatened," proudly said Bane. "Vision after vision, I have grown wiser, no knowledge may be hidden from me now. Don't even try."

The standoff between the centaur and the wizards continued, with Bane trying to see past them, and the Slytherins holding him at wand-point. He trotted from side to side, but then his whole massive body surged upward, and Bane stood on his hind legs.

He finally saw the fallen, bound silhouette of the unicorn, and let out a roar. The wizards responded with spell-fire, most of it going wild, with Rosier's curse bouncing off the centaur's large shield. Tom's spell followed it, and broke the shield apart, along with Bane's arm underneath it.

The centaur quickly ducked back into the shadows, and disappeared between the trees. For a tense moment, they could hear the hooves moving in the darkness around them, circling. Tom ordered the Slytherins back, but as they were retreating, Bane came galloping back in.

His wand was glowing brightly, and then it seemed to have discharged magical energy of some kind. At first not much happened, but soon the very ground begun to split apart, the magic racing towards them at breakneck speed.

The wizards spread out in different directions, with Tom alone standing firm, and blocking the unknown spell with a flick of his wand, unfazed. Not all were this lucky – Lestrange was thrown into the air, afterwards his unconscious body impacted the earth with a thud.

Having to physically dodge a spell from a centaur, and that spell successfully impacting his friend, enraged Lucius to no end. He saw Bane galloping forward and lifting his stolen wand once more, but Malfoy was faster.

Lucius slashed his wand through the air, and an arc of red energy rushed towards the centaur. It impacted Bane without a sound, slicing him clean in half. The horse body continued aimlessly cantering forwards, while the human half plopped onto the ground in a great discharge of gore.

Nobody dared to move, they just stared at the scene, transfixed. The darkness spared them some of the sight, but the moonlight illuminated it well enough, so that their imagination could perfectly fill in the rest. Soon, both halves ceased moving completely.

Something wet touched Tom on the cheek. When he looked up, he saw the falling snow.

* * *

The moon retreated behind heavy clouds, which covered the Forbidden Forest in darkness. As the snow kept falling on the Slytherins, they were hurriedly covering up the signs of what had transpired. One could see a grim determination in their movements, but also a shaky hand here or there.

They levitated the centaur carcass into the deep gauges that were left behind from the battle, and closed the earth over it, hoping that none would ever find it. They were careful as to not leave any entrails behind, but the blood itself was already being covered and washed away by the snow.

None of them were harmed during the altercation, even Lestrange quickly came to after being knocked out. The worst he and Lucius experienced, were torn robes and bruises, easily fixable with a simple spell. But what mark this bloodshed would leave on their souls, none could tell for now.

As they were finishing to cover up their tracks, Tom went to the unicorn. The Draught did its job, and the creature wasn't moving at all, still tightly bound with an abundance of ropes. Tom vanished the bindings with a flick of his wand and stared at the unicorn for a moment, it's white color still spotless, but no longer glowing like just moments ago.

No one, save perhaps for the Headmaster, could make a Portkey going into Hogwarts or the grounds. However, this deep into the wilderness, Tom thought he could give a try at making one going out. He took out a quill from his bag, wrote a short letter to Burkes, and turned this very letter into a Portkey. As it touched the creature, the unmoving unicorn disappeared with a white flash.

After the last remnant of today's deed vanished without trace, Tom felt relief flooding into his body. It was a curious sense of freedom and lightness; the problem of money was solved and then some. Everything was falling into place, soon he would discover the lost secrets of his ancestors.

"Let's go," he said to his companions. "There's nothing more for us here, we need to find a spot to stay the night."

"What?" moaned Yaxley, others looking similarly dejected. "We're not going back to Hogwarts?"

"Of course not - getting caught would be too dangerous! None may know that we were here tonight. Sooner or later, the centaurs might start wondering about the disappearance of one of their own, or the missing unicorn. We'll sneak back in during breakfast, when the gates are opened."

They saw reason in his words, but that didn't change the fact that they weren't all too happy about it. The Slytherins followed Tom in silence, either still in slight shock, or pondering what has happened today. Only Tom still looked full of energy, confidently leading them onward, as he had some knowledge of the woods gained over the last months.

At first, he had to use the light of his wand to orient himself, but when they found a trail, they continued in total darkness. Thanks to the brisk march, and a few handy spells, the Slytherins were finally beginning to feel their toes again. The way back didn't take nearly as long, and they soon saw the lights of Hogwarts, not many still burning at this hour. After giving it a short, wistful look, they turned away and started searching for a discreet place to spend the night.

They finally settled on a spot that was a significant dip in the terrain, perhaps a stream once passed through it. Presently it was overgrown with moss, ferns and puzzlegrass – but most importantly, it was in the middle of a dense thicket.

The Slytherins ate a quick supper, which made everyone a bit more talkative, with the exception of Lucius who was still quite somber. Tom officially congratulated him on defeating the centaur, reminding him that they had no other choice but to defend themselves. Lucius seemed to accept this, nodding in understanding, but remained stoic.

Soon, they laid out their sleeping bags on the ground, shielding them with spells from the bad weather and potential prying eyes. It wasn't long before they fell asleep, wrapped in their magically crafted comfort.

* * *

They started waking somewhere around dawn, when the sky became bright enough to interrupt their sleep. The world around them was now covered in a thin layer of snow, along with all their sleeping bags and belongings.

One by one, they would slowly stir, first in blissful ignorance - but then immediately reminded of the macabre scenes that they bore witness to. However disquieting they might have been, the memories soon passed, especially when faced with the eternal question - what to do next?

Tom was the first one to rise, and to leave fresh new tracks in the snow. The world around him filled him with a strange sense of disquiet, and soon he realized why. The white that he was surrounded by reminded him of the unicorn, and he sensed a division within himself that he just couldn't easily shake.

He masked it with anger, as he usually did, but soon realized that this would be just a temporary solution. He needed a ritual, some way to finally move forward. Deep in thought, Tom left his companions behind, and went where his steps lead him.

On a nearby hill he could see Hogwarts, covered in snow, still asleep. A shiver went down his spine, and Tom reached into his pocket for his wand, but he grasped an unfamiliar piece of wood instead. It was Myrtle's old wand, or perhaps it was Bane's old wand now.

Tom rolled it in his fingers for a while, wondering why he still even had it. Despite all his words about freedom and power, he still felt doubts, sentimentalities. Looking back, he hasn't really caused or participated in any real violence before last night.

But violence would be the only way forward, the only way to reach heaven. There was no use in being divided or doubtful, and he resolved to rid himself of this weakness. Tom firmly grasped that twice widowed wand, and snapped it in half.


	13. The Chamber of Secrets

As the breakfast started, Tom finally lead the Slytherins out of the Forbidden Forest. They quickly crossed the Hogwarts Grounds, hoping that none would see them. The snow started falling once again, but it still would be a bit of time until it covered their tracks.

"Alright, we'll be going in one by one," said Tom, as they huddled near the castle walls. "We shouldn't be seen as a group."

"Yeah, about that," said Lestrange. "Looks like that Gryffindor saw us already."

Tom looked around him, and there was indeed a lone student standing under a nearby tower, apparently sneaking out for a cigarette.

"I'll take care of this, don't wait around," he replied, and went over to the student. Walking closer, he immediately recognized him – it was Lupin.

"Hi, Tom," Lupin greeted him. "Now, why would a group of Slytherins be spending an entire night out in the Forest? And just as we got first snow - I hope you didn't catch a cold."

"What are you talking about," said Tom. "We just went out a few minutes before you."

"Through closed front doors?" laughed Lupin. "Nah, I had to wait around until the groundskeeper opened them up. Don't worry, I won't rat you out. But you should be more careful. It's nearly the full moon, and I heard that there are werewolves."

"Really?" said Tom, his anger slowly rising as he continued listening. "I'll keep that in mind. See you later."

* * *

The Slytherins managed to get inside the castle without any further trouble, and went straight to the Great Hall for breakfast. Some kept feeling slightly paranoid, perhaps it was their guilt showing. However, it was short lived, they soon managed to relax and enjoy the food.

Only Tom was still calculating, weighing options inside his head. While he was a little concerned, primarily he just felt disgust at letting a werewolf freely roam inside the castle. When the breakfast ended, he finally came to a decision and pulled his companions aside.

"We have a problem," Tom said. "Lupin knows that we weren't inside the castle tonight."

"God damn it," Rosier said, others were similarly exasperated. "What do we do now?"

"He won't talk," said Lucius. "Lupin breaks the rules himself on a regular basis."

"Of course he won't talk now," said Yaxley. "But once Dumbledore starts investigating what happened? Then he'll come forward."

"So, we're screwed," summarized Rosier.

"There is only one thing left to do," said Tom, and they listened closely. "We need to get rid of him."

"Get rid of him?" Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Not what you're thinking," smiled Tom. "All we need to do is to get him expelled. And that's going to be ridiculously easy."

"How?" Lucius questioned.

"Lupin's a werewolf," said Tom, shocking the other Slytherins. "He sneaks out of the castle every month, Dumbledore arranged everything for him."

"Bloody hell," Lestrange's eyes widened. "That makes sense, the supposed sickness and everything!"

"Dumbledore let him study here?" Lucius got angry. "A werewolf inside Hogwarts? That man is demented! Did he just let him rampage every full moon in the Forbidden Forest?"

"No, I think they use the Shrieking Shack," said Tom. "However, there is no question that we need to expose Lupin and throw him out. Not only for our own benefit, but for the safety of all. The best opportunity will be tonight of course."

"A werewolf is dangerous though," said Yaxley. "One scratch won't kill you, but it'll make you wish you were dead."

"Agreed," said Tom. "We can't have him anywhere near us, or other students. I was thinking of locking him up somewhere for the night, somewhere public - so that when people see the damage there will be no way to cover it up."

"What about the greenhouses?" said Lestrange. "We'll be having a Herbology class together this afternoon. They keep Devil's Snare in there, so the glass is nearly unbreakable, certainly enough to keep a werewolf in. What if we just spell the door shut?"

"Great idea," laughed Yaxley. "One of the younger years is sure to have Astronomy today, they'll be on the tower, and have a great view of the rampaging werewolf!"

"He can't know that it was us," said Tom. "Locking him in ourselves would be too obvious, first thing he'll do is tell Dumbledore."

"Just jinx his work," suggested Lestrange. "Remember how Sprout sometimes made people stay behind, and clean up? If that doesn't work, we'll try something else. If nothing works, we'll confound him or something. Don't werewolves have giant gaps in their memory around the transformations anyway?"

"I'm counting on you," said Tom. "Remember, his friends will probably come looking for him. Also, you'll have to do this one alone, because I'll be skipping Herbology today. I still have unfinished business concerning the unicorn."

* * *

It was getting dark by the time Tom finished haggling with Burkes. The unicorn was already gone, shipped off the isles to a private collector in France, who expected to make an even larger profit than them. As the old-growth forests kept shrinking over the years, the unicorn population was dropping as well - but the demand for unicorn hair only grew larger. It was a perfect business opportunity.

In the end they settled on an acceptable split, leaving Tom with more than enough coin than was needed for the Locket, especially since Burkes wouldn't be acting as a middle-man for the transaction. All that he needed to do now, was to make a deal with the Hepzibah Smith's grandson, Amon Smith.

Tom apparated to Hampstead, which was quite a posh part of the northern London. Expensive houses lined the streets, but it was still nothing much when compared to what he was used to, like Godric's Hollow. He found the Muggle architecture quite repetitive.

Among the Muggle buildings stood a house much more extravagant in design, topped with small towers, and arched windows. Tom went up to it, and rattled the door knocker, trying to see inside through the complex patterns in the Flemish glass. The door was opened by a very sad, and very old looking elf.

"Mr. Riddle?" she asked, looking at Tom through her puffy eyes. "Come inside sir, master is expecting you."

Walking inside was like stepping into a Hogwarts corridor. Walls were lined with paintings, there was an expensive rug on the floor, and a complete goblin-make armor stood at the end of the hall. After he hung his hat and cloak up, he followed the elf into a room filled with even more antiquities.

"Coming!" he heard somebody say, and a young wizard soon appeared. His hair was quite disheveled, and he looked like he just dragged himself out of bed. "Tom Riddle, right? Burkes said you wanted to buy something."

"That's correct," said Tom, looking around.

"I'm Amon," he said, and they shook hands. The two wizards sat down near a small table, and the Smith heir poured himself some water from a pitcher.

"Water? No? So, what did you want to buy? All the troubles with the bloody goblins made selling any of this stuff nearly impossible. My grandma, God rest her soul, collected a lot of junk and I want to unload it all.

"But not only did I have to wait for months to get it, now suddenly there's nobody who wants to part with their Galleons! It's that goddamn Gringotts waiting list, and all those limits on withdrawal. Just my luck. Yeah, I'm not letting them have my gold again, no thanks."

"I share your frustrations," agreed Tom. "Anyway, I'm here to buy the Locket. The one which supposedly belonged to Salazar Slytherin?"

"Hokey, fetch the Locket," shouted Amon, and the house elf slowly shuffled away. "What do you mean supposedly? With the price she bought it for, it better be. Burkes told me to wait, that he will find some buyers who have the funds these days... do you have the funds?"

"Of course," said Tom, and set a medium-sized chest on the table. Amon opened it up, his eyes glinting, and he started counting the Galleons. "The amount is exactly what Mr. Burkes brokered for you."

"Good, good," Hepzibah's grandson said, engrossed by his task. "It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that this is by far the most expensive thing that she owned, not counting the house itself. She would have wanted me to get the full value for it, I'm sure."

"Yes, and Mr. Burkes took care of that," said Tom, glancing impatiently after the elf. Finally, he saw Hokey walking back at a glacial pace, with an unassuming box in her hands. When she eventually handed it to him, Amon was almost finished counting.

Tom gingerly took the cardboard box, and slowly slid the cover off. The Locket didn't disappoint – it looked like something Gorlak, the Deepdweller's Elder, would wear. Clearly medieval in make, the golden Locket was finished with an emerald '_S_'. There was a hinge on its side.

"Yeah, I couldn't open that, it's stuck or something," commented Amon. "But I don't think there's much inside. Seemed hollow to me."

Tom tried opening it, but it just wouldn't budge. Right now, he settled on admiring his heirloom, in all its intricacies – it was a work of art. Truly, something that would suit Salazar Slytherin himself. After a moment of hesitation, he put it around his neck.

"It looks great on you," laughed the young wizard. "Did you really buy it just to wear it? I've got more trinkets, if you're interested. Even a goblet that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff herself."

"Not right now," said Tom, taking a look at his watch. "Sorry, but I don't have time. I have to run."

"So soon? Well, I still have a lot of stuff, but don't wait too long or it'll all be gone!"

Tom quickly escaped the young wizard, who already begun describing something else that he wanted to sell to him, and stepped outside. It was indeed quite late by now, and the full moon was showing from between the clouds.

He gave the Smith residence a one last look, fighting the urge to set the whole thing on fire, and disapparated with a crack.

* * *

He reappeared under that old well, which they were using to smuggle potions ingredients into Hogwarts, and made his way through the caverns and tunnels back to the castle. The weight of the Locket on his chest filled him with satisfaction.

Then, he remembered something, and stopped by one of the torches. He took off his prize and inspected it by the light – there was still one thing that he wanted to try.

"_Open,_" he hissed in snake-tongue, and the artifact obeyed his command. Even though that the final test of the Locket would come later, he smiled, as now he had the unmistakable proof of its authenticity.

Then, he felt a sting of disappointment – the inside was indeed empty, not even a family photo. It was perhaps foolish to expect otherwise, his mother would have taken out anything before selling it.

However, under the light he spotted a faintly engraved text on the inside, something that looked like Greek letters. As he kept looking at it, he slowly recognized their worn shape – "_HEN TO PAN_", an old alchemical phrase meaning "the all is one".

What was this expression doing on Slytherin's artifact? Deep in thought, he let his legs guide him out of the passage, and up the stairs into the castle. Then, as he was walking through the corridors, he was taken out of his musings by a distant commotion.

It was nearly curfew, so this was quite unusual. He hid his new Locket under his robes, and followed the noise. Some Slytherins were running up the stairs to a nearby tower, quite excited. They all huddled near the windows, trying to see something in the distance.

"There's a werewolf outside," one of them cried out to Tom. "Listen, can you hear it howl?"

* * *

Apparently, the Slytherins managed to lock Lupin inside the greenhouses, without him even realizing how it all happened. The place contained dangerous plants within, so it was expertly protected; the door just wouldn't budge, and even the glass withstood Lupin's best efforts. He waited for anybody to look for him, he shouted, kicked the door - but nobody came, his friends convinced that he was already inside the Shack.

After a few hours, he transformed, and his howls carried all the way to the castle. It didn't take long until the students and the staff realized what was happening, and the doors of Hogwarts were sealed shut, Astronomy class suspended.

It took some effort, but the staff managed to get everybody back into their common rooms, and to confirm that nobody was left behind. They all listened to the blood-chilling sounds throughout the night, braver students still trying to see something in the darkness.

Lupin's absence was immediately obvious to the Gryffindors. Harry, and others who knew, tried to cover it up by making up a story about a detention. They all wished that they could do more for their friend. However, even they couldn't accompany him during the full moon - it was just too dangerous, a single scratch and one of them would be turned.

With his inhuman strength, Lupin battled against the Devil's Snare. He eventually managed to break free out of the greenhouses, smashing one of the thick glass panes. The werewolf rampaged for a while on the Hogwarts grounds, but eventually passed out due to his injuries.

Despite efforts to hide his identity, rumors got around of Lupin being carried into the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore never officially expelled him, but with the story leaking to the Prophet, Lupin left Hogwarts on his own soon after.

Even Sprout was convinced that she locked him in by accident, which weighed on her conscience heavily. She was the one who planted the Whomping Willow, and used to lead him under it every month during his younger years.

Tom cared little about the whole event, his mind on other things. He was already planning his expedition to the Chamber of Secrets, deciding to stay behind for Christmas – he needed as much peace and quiet as possible.

He wrote a letter to Mr. Potter that he wouldn't be able to come home this year, and bid Harry and everybody else farewell. He cited N.E.W.T.s as the reason for staying behind, and added that Lupin and the other Gryffindors would feel more comfortable without him there.

* * *

After the other students left for the Hogwarts Express, Tom immediately set off into the Forbidden Forest. Ever since their hunt for the unicorn, it kept snowing every day nearly constantly. Now, a waist-high layer of powder covered everything around Hogwarts.

At first, Tom tried wading through the snow, but immediately found the process too tiresome. He applied a few simple spells to his boots, making himself able to just walk on top of everything, without sinking. The shallow tracks that he left behind were quickly blown apart by the wind.

The Forest felt like a completely different place during the winter. There was nearly no sound; the woods were desolate, and all the animals seemed to be hiding somewhere. He found orienting himself in this scenery quite hard, especially with no visible paths.

The result of this was that Tom kept wandering for hours, not quite lost, but not really sure where he was either. Every wrong decision wasted a lot of time, be it picking a too aggressive incline, or an overly dense path through the woods.

The visibility decreased over time, due to fog and the falling snow. Eventually, Tom could hardly see anything, and it was getting darker each passing minute. Still, he was sure that he was almost there. The wind picked up, bending the trees and lashing his body, but he kept pushing forward.

At last, the jagged shape of the Ophidian Tor showed itself to him. Its black outline loomed over the valley, darker than the afternoon sky. Tom grinned, and waved his wand in a complex pattern over his body, enabling him to levitate without even a broom.

He flew all the way up to the peak, which resembled the open jaws of a serpent, and landed in the middle of the maw. A thick layer of snow was covering the rock. Tom removed it with a simple flick of his wand, showering the landscape below.

With the rock exposed, he began searching for the indentation, the mark of Slytherin. Soon, he found the letter 'S' engraved into the stone, and his heart started beating faster. He took off his Locket, and pressed it against the relief.

It was a perfect fit. He felt ancient magical energy stirring all around him in response. Tom looked up, and his heart sunk – the stone jaws of the serpent were closing above him. Despite being slightly unnerved, he continued pressing the Locket into the rock, and soon he was in total darkness.

Once it was all quiet again, he stood up and lit his wand. Tom found himself standing on the very first step of a spiral staircase, which went deeper into the belly of the stone serpent. With the Locket back around his neck, he began his descent.

The path closely followed the rock formation that was visible on the surface, winding and turning along the slope of the mountain like a snake. The inside passage was crude, the walls uneven – completely dissimilar to the architecture of Hogwarts.

Finally, the tunnel opened up into a set of large underground chambers. Inside, thick stone pillars held up the enormous arched ceilings, but other than that the place was mostly empty. There were a few stone altars here and there, strange basins, and piles of bent metal.

Was the Chamber of Secrets just an unfinished and abandoned last project of Salazar Slytherin? What mysterious purpose could this place possibly have served? A thick layer of dust covered everything, there was rubble on the floor – Tom didn't know what to make of it.

He frantically went from chamber to chamber, until at last he managed to find an enormous circular door. It was the only thing that really stood out; elaborately shaped out of a silvery metal, with seven serpents entangled into its locking mechanism.

"_Open,_" Tom commanded in Parseltongue. The serpents begun moving in complex patterns, until eventually they unweaved themselves. The door swung open.

* * *

Beyond it was an expansive cave, predating even Hogwarts, as old as the landscape itself. Over the previous millennia, flowing water intricately twisted the surface of the rock, layering many strange shapes on top of one another.

The eye could pick out disturbing patterns in the stone, which almost seemed human, but were all contorted; as if in great suffering. In addition to these formations, bizarre looking sculptures were chaotically scattered in the Chamber. They looked primitive, but at the same time quite menacing, as if some cruel gods of yore.

The darkness which filled the cave was so oppressive, that Tom's _Lumos _didn't reach the end of the cavern, and so he conjured up a ball of white light and flung it to the other side. The spell illuminated even more of the unnerving shapes, and then a monumental sculpture at the far end.

It depicted a gargantuan serpent, about fifty feet in length, all carved out in extraordinary detail. Tom thought that this was probably why the outer chambers were so unfinished - Salazar Slytherin must have spent years on this single work of art, in the end achieving life-like accuracy.

He made his way towards it, and discovered that the statue was placed on the bank of a subterranean river, as emerald as his Slytherin robes. Just looking at the shapes which laid at its bottom filled him with a profound sense of unease. The water disappeared into impenetrable darkness, slowly flowing further into uncharted depths.

"_Reveal your mystery to me, show me your Secrets,"_ Tom started speaking in Parseltongue, since it seemed to be the one thing that the Salazar's Chamber responded to. He looked up and spread his arms towards the ceiling, as if in a prayer.

"_I have searched all my life, gathered all the clues and keys. Now, finally I stand here, worthy," _he continued, the shadows lengthening around him.

"_My blood is the true blood of the Slytherin line unbroken. I have blackened my hands with both theory and terror. My will is in every way perfect – I know no fear, rule over my desire."_

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!" _he finished and looked down. What he saw nearly made him jump out of his skin.

Before him shone an enormous, ancient eye of a serpent. The statue was no statue at all, but perhaps the oldest, and the largest Basilisk in existence. A beast like this could have been alive ever since the times of Herpo the Foul himself.

Tom stared at it transfixed, unable to look away - his mind ground to a halt. The eye felt bottomless, its cold colors formed into something akin to a galaxy. The horned head of the behemoth slowly rose up, and a second eye showed, moved closer.

At the back of his mind, Tom thought about running, but somehow, he just couldn't move a single muscle. He realized that perhaps Salazar didn't even want anyone finding this place, and this is why he locked it away so thoroughly.

The giant Basilisk head kept moving towards him, imposing and eternal enough for a god. Predatory and unfeeling, it felt like a power far beyond mankind, something that could bring entire nations to their knees.

In a sudden movement, the ancient maw opened up, exposing its terrible fangs. It lunged at Tom, and faster than he could blink, pierced his body. He felt venom flowing into his veins, burning like fire as it spread.

After a moment it released him, went away. He stumbled backwards, his limbs stiffening, his wand falling from his grasp. In utter agony, Tom wanted to scream, but found himself unable to draw breath.

As he laid on the stone, he listened to his heart slowing down, until it finally stopped. The pain receded, being replaced by a dreadful coldness. Tom's vision blackened, and then he could see no more.


	14. Beyond Life and Death

"_I am a son of the Earth and the starry sky. I am parched with thirst and dying; but quickly grant me cold water from the Lake of Memory to drink." - _an inscription found on a burial tablet, Crete, 4th century BC.

* * *

For timeless eons he dreamt, his consciousness a dim flickering light in the vast abyss of disconnected fantasies. They soothingly rolled over him like waves, but at the same time kept creeping into his lungs, slowly drowning him.

Then, through an unexpected surge of awareness, he opened his eyes. Even though that he was still asleep, the important thing was that he knew that. His eyelids already begun feeling heavy, and it would be so easy to just let go... No. He started fighting against the current.

He wanted to wake up, to return to reality. However, which way was reality? It wasn't up, or down, nor left or right. After a brief struggle, he figured it out, and pierced the thin membrane that was separating him from Being.

Then he floated, bodyless, in the colossal emptiness of space. Around him sat countless points of light. Stars? No, galaxies. They looked to him like fluffy clouds, arrayed in a myriad of shapes and colors. As he got closer, they attained horrifying definition.

Millions of stars, gargantuan balls of plasma, whizzed passed him. But he was still just on the outskirts of one such galaxy, and as he got nearer, the stream of stars became even more relentless. It was like being in a cloud, true, but at the same time like seeing each atom that the cloud was made out of.

The sheer scale and number of Creation filled him with dread. Then, came panic – how would he find himself in this infinite assortment of all things? He couldn't even see the end of how many galaxies there were, each one with hundreds of billions of stars, his miniscule Earth orbiting just one of them.

Would he be doomed to wander this cold vacuum of space forever? Would he even manage to find what he was looking for, before the stars grew cold, and the universe expanded so much that even getting to a nearby star would become unattainable? Before matter itself started breaking apart?

Earth. Yes, that's what it was called. He was starting to remember, and somehow found himself looking down on his blue planet. But when was this? And which one of these two-legged beings was he? He just couldn't recollect.

He was pure Spirit, the only laws which he were bound by, were the ones which he imposed on himself from habit. Sight, hearing, touch, smell – they all blended into one. So did space and time. But he craved definition, craved the authority of the physical law, and the order which it brought.

He watched many lives play out, people came into being, and acted out the drama of being a person. They were all so convinced that they were special, so absorbed in their own affairs. Rich, poor, good, evil – they all died in the end, winked out of existence.

Was there any rhyme or reason to it? Or was this just a bad dream, just a sick fantasy that he had? Once again, he decided to look closer. As he concentrated, he found out that that he could see the world through each of their eyes, share their joys and pains.

At times, he would stumble upon something that he remembered. Encouraged by this, he tried to perceive even more. To, at least for a single instance, grasp the totality of all experience. Perhaps, then he would finally find himself.

Time became squashed, he saw the whole sum of human existence as a single messy sculpture. While all the delights of being were certainly enticing, he just couldn't look away from all the unimaginable horror that lurked in there as well. It drew him in, slowly acquiring near infinite detail, filling all his vision.

He? Did he even have a name, or was he always just a disembodied observer? Surely, he didn't identify as one of these pathetic mortals? He wanted to do something to break this eldritch sculpture. However, without a body, it was all futile.

He tried to fight it, tried to stop looking into this wretched mountain of evil. The strain quickly became unbearable. His only hope was to somehow return back into his body, before his Spirit would break apart, and its fragments dissipate into nothing.

* * *

The roots of evil run deep, spreading from the very first humans in all directions – and he had to follow them all. From the moment a person was born, they were doomed, suffering and death always creeped in. The bleakness of it all diffused in his mind like poison.

Was this hell, what he was experiencing? Or was it just a trial, a test of his worthiness, that would ultimately lead to salvation? There was still something within him that made him continue, perhaps it was just blind stubbornness, some residual drive of all life to survive. Eventually, he got closer to what he was looking for.

He watched the Gaunt family trapped in an endless cycle of abuse, slowly becoming more and more destitute and inbred over the passing generations. They lived on the fringes of society, firmly set in their odd occult beliefs, all the while carrying out unspeakable deeds.

The Gaunts existed in perpetual darkness, one violent act after the other. It was a tradition passed down from father to son, a curse that just wouldn't let go. Magic in their hands was a terrible power, and they used it with impunity. Woe to any Muggle which dared to cross their path.

However, over time their power weakened, their magic slowly run out. Soon, only three people remained, all living in a single shack: a father, who had a son and a daughter. Her name was Merope, which seemed familiar.

She rejected magic, as it was to her tainted and evil, and wished for a better life. Merope found hope and joy in observing people passing by on the nearby road, and finally fell in love with one of them. However, in desperation she used magic to secure her future, and trapped her lover with a potion.

His delirious affection gave her happiness like she never knew before, and inevitably she fell pregnant. They decided to run away, and lived in poverty, but she didn't ask for anything more. Believing that it was true love, she gradually weaned her new husband off the potion, but then struck disaster.

Sober and finally of a clear mind, her husband did not love her. He tried to run away at first, only the child held him back. From then on, they did not make for a happy family, and he became an alcoholic. The grief and the guilt slowly ate away at Merope's heart, and she died.

Our bodyless observer watched the man raise their child on his own, but it grew cold and cunning. The son despised his father, and became convinced that the man killed his wife. The boy grew up friendless and alone, however it all changed when his father died.

Perhaps it was too late, perhaps he was too scarred to form any real connections, but he was taken in by a more normal family. It civilized him, reigned him in, but secretly he was still living a double life. Deep inside he was still cold, as he just wouldn't let anybody in there, no matter what.

Misery followed his every step, suffering spread to the people around him. He certainly didn't think it was all his fault, these people surely brought it on themselves, through their own faults. He considered it right, however cruel this judgement might have been – and even applied this rule to himself.

During his time in Hogwarts, he was drawn to all manner of dark and alternate knowledge. Maybe this was where he found solace, connection to people just like him, who all felt like they didn't belong in the light. It is this pursuit, which lead him all the way here.

* * *

Once again, Tom found himself in the Chamber of Secrets; the place now looked to him like purgatory, or hell. He finally saw that everything around him, all the walls and boulders, were actually countless forms of the Basilisk's previous victims.

Petrified, they were sculpted by the flowing water, and over time became nearly unrecognizable. All that was visible now was their anguish. Perhaps, their souls still remained trapped within the eroding rock, and would remain there for millennia to come.

Would he eventually find himself, in one of those faces? Tom continued scanning the Chamber, until he found what he was looking for. His own body was still lying on the ground where he left it, motionless. No breath, no heartbeat, nothing.

"_So, you have managed to return,_" he heard somebody, something, say. "_Well done._"

Tom felt an ominous presence in the cave, and turned around. There was a... _thing_ standing near the Basilisk, its shape indescribable. He thought that he saw a man, but it kept constantly changing like a hallucination, as if Tom's thoughts had an immediate impact on what he saw.

Still, seeing and hearing was not even the right word for it. He might as well say that he smelled its words, touched its image. Whatever the case might be, he perceived meaning and emotion directly in some way, without the hinderance of a physical body.

"Who are you?" Tom asked.

"_I fear that each answer I could give to that question, would be as equally valid as the next," _the apparition replied.

"Are you Salazar Slytherin? Are you the Basilisk?" Tom asked, the shape in front of him changing from an old man, to a fifty-foot serpent. "Or are you just a hallucination? Are you... me?"

The thing merely smiled, but Tom kept thinking, and finally came to a conclusion, "You are the Demiurge."

"_I am no more the Demiurge than you are," _the being replied, but Tom did not believe it.

"Do not lie. I saw your diabolical sculpture, artisan. I saw life crawl out of the muck, and climb all the way to man on a ladder of corpses – I saw it '_evolve_'. What insane architect designs such inefficient, cruel laws for his world? Creates death and suffering, and sets them as the fundamental rules?

"You damn all the things which don't fit into your schemes, kill them when you grow tired of them, only for a new generation of victims to be born and entertain you. They suffer because they don't want to die, because pain staves off death for a little while, but it's all useless.

"The universe you've designed is mindless, pointless savagery. There is no meaning in it whatsoever, and to introduce consciousness into it is the greatest crime of all. The Human Spirit is fundamentally incompatible with the crude matter you've created.

"Muggles don't even realize that they are just biological machines - with no free will, no way to change their fate. Their thoughts are just the perceptions of what is going on inside their brains, no different from sensory stimuli. Perhaps, even wizards have no more control than a Muggle; perhaps all we can do is perceive."

"_I doubt that you really believe in all of that," _the thing replied. "_Suffering cuts and shapes all living things, removes flaws, even if it has to kill. Nothing easy is worth doing. Perhaps, this existence of ours, is the only thing that is worthwhile? _

"_What do you know anyway, a mere mortal? Can you grasp and understand the totality of all Being, that you make a judgement on it? You barely managed to return here, to this moment. All you were able to see was a tiny sliver, and perhaps you understood none of it._

"_While your soul seems whole, have you really caused no evil by your own devices? You're not innocent yourself, and so you could remain in the right, you've decided to condemn the entire world. It would be much harder, perhaps unbearable, to admit your faults._

"_I can clearly see your secret essence, the one burning desire inside your heart – you think yourself a god. But a god you are not. You are finite, a mere point."_

"I will make myself a god, if that's the only way to escape this prison," Tom said. "That's the one real use that suffering has – it tells you to get away as far as you can. Then, nobody shall impose their rules on me, not even physicality.

"Causality, linear time, space, this body," Tom pointed to what remained of him on the ground. "They are all just vulgar limitations, wounds inflicted on what is otherwise a perfect consciousness. Even a mere mortal could come up with countless different, better modes of being. Any folly that I might have committed, was allowed and facilitated by the rules of this world.

"I plan to escape this crude prison of matter. But even now I am still chained, although I managed to save myself from the recycling process and return back to reality. How – I don't know, but I have broken the cycle. Escaped very death itself."

"_You have done nothing, that was not done before you. It was the Basilisk which enabled you to go this far, permitted for your Spirit to move away from your body. Why would a creature that could kill you with its mere gaze, decide to bite instead, if it wanted you dead? Just to torture you for a moment?_

"_No, it gave you its orphic venom so you could go on a journey, to launch you beyond the confines of your limited perception. However, sadly, you are still only able to see things through a very tiny lens. And it is a lens which you have fashioned yourself._

"_The Basilisk can't do everything for you. What you see, and what you make of it, is up to you. It is your very nature which limits you, it is a greater prison than any physical limitation could ever be. Conquer that, and you shall achieve true Royalty."_

"Royalty?" said Tom. "I have read somebody speaking in those terms before... yes, it all makes perfect sense now. Are you Herpo?"

"_I haven't heard that name spoken for an eternity," _the entity said, suddenly attaining more definition._ "They called him the Foul. Yes, that was my beginning, growing from a splintered fragment of a soul. Now I am... more."_

"How did you survive without a body?" asked Tom.

"_I was anchored to this very serpent which you see beside me. It is a fine home. I can see far from here, and even give guidance to those like you. Thanks to the Basilisk, earth and stone are no barrier to my vision, and in return I sustain it with my own power._

"_However, this outcome was never the intent of poor Herpo. All he wanted was to escape death, to always have me to pull him back. A naked, lone Spirit cannot survive within Creation for very long, and it either dissipates or has to reincarnate. I was supposed to serve as an anchor._

"_Herpo lived his life burdened with intolerable knowledge. He feared what would come next, same as you do. In the end, he welcomed it."_

"Why couldn't you prevent his death? Did his plan not work?" said Tom.

"_It all worked as he intended. Herpo had wandered into the twilight that exists between life and death many times, mostly out of his own volition - all to find a way to break out of Creation. Same as you, he was driven by a profound dissatisfaction with the world, always seeking something greater. _

"_And each time I served as a beacon, a link to the physical world; I pulled him back. He left his body so many times that his journeys nearly drove him mad, and even left a more tangible mark on him. This is why they called him 'the Foul'._

"_The way he split his soul, sundering me from his Spirit, was through murder. And from that day forth he was marked, not unlike Cain, a figure which he became fascinated by. This murder was just the first of many that he committed throughout his unnaturally long lifespan._

"_The more abhorrent deeds he committed, the surer he grew in his beliefs – why hasn't any god struck him down yet? Surely, a world where such deeds were possible, shouldn't even exist. It was pure madness. He wanted for it all to end, he wanted to wake up from his nightmare._

"_I do not know what happened to him. Somehow, he just disappeared, winked out of existence completely. Nothing remained. Perhaps, something did finally strike him down." _

"But you are different," said Tom. "How did you retain your sanity? Aren't you trapped in the twilight as well, between life and death?"

"_I was born in the twilight; I never really was human. Herpo called me a Daimon, so did the other Greeks, but the people on this isle would call me a Horcrux. Various cults would worship the Basilisk, seek its venom, just to die from its gaze. _

"_I cannot interact with the physical world. If a human would ever come to visit me, I would try to guide them, share my wisdom. But nearly never would I share, what I have shared with you – and I do it as a last resort. The last one I conversed with, was a wizard named Salazar Slytherin._

"_He could speak to snakes, just as you do, and some of the same desires burned in his heart. I believe all Parselmouths are related - they are the descendants of Herpo. But this blood is often a curse, strange fate hangs around those who have it. If they manage to find me, I try to deliver them from their doom."_

"So, you want to save me," Tom rolled his eyes. "However wise and old you might be, forgive me if I might not trust everything what a disembodied Spirit trapped inside a giant snake has to say."

"_The one thing that became absolutely clear over the eternity that I've spent here, is that as a Spirit I am not so different as it might seem. Let me share a secret with you. You detest Creation, detest matter, and worship the intangible. However, this division that you have created – it is artificial. It has no reality._

"_Gaze outside of this Chamber, at the Forest which is above us. Do you not see the Spirit of perseverance and life looking back at you from those pine trees, still green during the winter? Look at all the wonderful creatures which call it home. Covered with snow, the world is so peaceful and quiet._

"_Do you see it? Or do you see emotions, ideas, memories? You do not see things then? In reality, your crude, inanimate matter is nowhere to be found. The whole world is awake, animated – spirited. It is Spirit. All of it._

"_The divisions that you have created just aren't true. The body, the soul, and the intangible are the same thing, but viewed from a different dimension. Everything has a cross-section, a volume, a path through time. Take away the foundations, and you have chaos. It would be a world without definition."_

"You're wrong," said Tom. "All around us are just inanimate objects. Those emotions that I see, and so on – it's just my own Spirit gazing back at me. It's my own reflection."

"_Precisely," _smiled the entity. "_At last you are beginning to understand."_

"Understand what? You speak in riddles."

"_Perhaps it will become apparent in due time, then."_

"Are you saying that the world is an illusion? A bad dream, that I just can't wake up from? I do not believe that, however absurd this existence might be."

"_I'm not saying that at all, that was Herpo's delusion. It is as real as it can be."_

"I... don't know." Tom felt incredibly tired. "I have seen too much, heard too much, thought about it too little. The only thing I know, is that I am not as sure as I once was. Everything is spinning, changing all around me. The future is no longer certain."

"_I'll take it as a sign that the doom which hangs over you has began to withdraw, and perhaps you will not repeat the mistakes of the past. Break the curse which flows in your blood - do not perpetuate misery like those before you. The only thing which keeps it alive are bad decisions."_

* * *

"What about this conversation, is it real? Or is my body just hallucinating from the venom?"

"_It is real."_

"Will I be able to remember all those things that I've seen? All the... suffering?_"_

"_Only what is able to fit inside your mortal mind. Some, you will forget."_

"How much more time do I have before I have to go back?" Tom warily looked back at his body.

"_A little while."_

"How do I even go back?"

"_I will show you."_

* * *

Tom couldn't remember when he returned to his body, the process was too gradual to be perceptible. Slowly, his mind started turning again, his heart regained function. First thing that he remembered, was shivering, half asleep.

He remained in complete delirium for what felt like days, he had no awareness of where he was, or what was happening. Tom was lost in nightmares, memories that couldn't possibly have been real, visions of some dark corners of the Earth.

Sometimes, he would be kept awake by the pain, and hallucinate instead. Still, he wasn't really conscious, even with his eyes fully open. Then he would pass out again, his body incredibly tired, and forget that he was ever awake.

This lethargy remained with him even when the delirium passed, and even when he finally managed to regain consciousness. Being this tired worried him, just laying still was almost too much to bear. With herculean effort, he began searching his pockets.

Somewhere in there was a potion, a tonic meant to refresh the body. However basic, it would have to do. When he felt the '_Prince's Potions_' label, he knew that he found what he was looking for. Tom downed it in one gulp, and felt noticeably better, no longer on the brink of passing out.

After a moment he began searching for his wand, in total darkness. The first thing that he did when he found it, was to inspect his body in the light, to see where the Basilisk had sunk its fang. It left a worrying black mark on his chest, its dark tendrils spread in all directions. Slowly oozing liquid, it smelled like death.

Tom healed it the best he could, closing the perforation, but he knew that the discoloration would remain there forever. He was branded, although it was a small price to pay; nobody living had seen the things that he had seen. And he remained alive, and as far as he could tell – sane. Now, what would he do with this newfound knowledge? Would he continue on his ruthless quest, or would he turn back?

The Basilisk had already returned to its slumber, once again immobile just like a statue. Tom gave it one last look, and disapparated.


End file.
